Inspired by John Wilmot: A Sonnet
In hope, from his Mistress
This night, my Lord, I think of you.
In cold and solitary bed
With rising blood which beats anew
In heart and gut and slit and head.
Your close and dark and lustful eye
Your crabb’d and godless hand that claws
A touch in space twixt lace and thigh
And chokes the breathe with open sores
A dream of hand and urgent prick
To slide and work against the bone
Of willing cunt with oozings thick
Of gasp and force and come and moan…..
Through days and dues of court and more
Tonight, my lord, I’ll be your whore.
Written By endoftheroad55
Searching high and low on information on my new fixation, John Wilmot. I come upon a poem that tries to mirror the poet; who is known for his lewdest, and satire poems.