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Shall I compare you with a real good lay?
You are so passive with your legs apart
And lie there waiting but for me to say
'Oh, baby, you're the girl who won my heart.'
Then thrust and plough and touch you with my hand
While you lay back in visions of our love
Or p'rhaps ignore me – thinking of England
Or other man: your mind's eye turtle dove.
Well let me tell you, you my smug old wife,
I have a lover now and she's a whore
In bed; she brings my body back to life
She rides my soul; I could not love her more.
One touch of her is 'nough to make me sweat;
For lusty sex, she's a much better bet.
II
Now forty winters do besiege your brow,
Your prick is hardly stiff enough to screw,
And you expect my worship of you now
Undiminished, as when our love was new.
Oh yes, you think your prowess good as gold,
That every chit thinks you a babe magnet;
Those little sluts don't care that you are old!
Shut up, I haven't finished with you yet.
When was it last that you let me enjoy
The climax that I still think I deserve?
You're careless of me now my long lost boy
Grow up and care, you stinking aging perve.
You lie on me and use me for your wanks
And want me to enjoy it still. No thanks!
III
Look in your glass, and tell the face you meet
That it's still lovely 'twixt each sagging jowl.
Your spreading arse, your sagging tits, your feet,
Even your mouthwash-scented breath is foul.
I would not care if you made my heart race
Like her, when she her girlish passion screams.
Her quick vibrating cunt clenches my cock apace
Whilst you just lie there, staring at the beams.
I'm aging too, I know, but my old wife,
You've given up on all that you once were.
I still long for the passion that's true life.
Go to the gym – and trim that pubic fur.
Until you start to be more fun in bed,
I'll probably keep shafting her instead.
IV
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
For I am Mother Earth, not yet the crone
Nor virgin, true it is, when all is told;
But she'll be off; she'll leave you on your own.
But hark! What slut in yonder bedroom fakes
Her climax? Stop, Will; she'll leave you broken;
A younger woman, having given, takes.
I've been a good wife, not just a token;
Come back to me, and not just for the kids.
Stop lusting after her; put on the brakes;
She'll chew you up and leave you on the skids.
I'll let you spank me, if that's what it takes,
Grow up, Will; please stop acting like a pup.
When was it last you did the washing up?
*******************
Notes.
If the first lines of the above sonnets seem familiar, they correspond to those of Shakespeare's; numbers XVIII, II, III and XXII, respectively (using the commonest numbering system). The other possibly resonant line (IV, 5) is, of course, from Romeo and Juliet.
twelveone suggest that I might be better inspired by Blake than by the Immoral Bard. I have only one thing to say to this:
It is an easy thing to compose in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing & thus compose: but it is not so with me.
God, I hate sonnets, you got an 100 from the first line
"Shall I compare you with a real good lay?"
and it just gets better
"But hark! What slut in yonder bedroom fakes"
and if you have the good sense, when you are trashin' the classics to pick the very best
Better than 100
You're a much better man than I, I would have picked William Blake
Oh to be thirty-five years younger and recite this in the school play and watch the teachers collapse one by one of apoplectic fits!
I must read the reviews more often!
b'brig
Your wit and deft phrasing make this a delightful read. Well done, Ms. Carroll!
Fly