I'd suck an ale from out its glass
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Or suck hot smoke off bundl'd grass
And so I'd suck thine velvet lips
Both 'neath the nose and 'tween thine hips
And pull in all the vapour there
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And praise the rotten with the fair
For rot from thee 's as fair to me
As passing fair thine fair can be—
So let me at thine rankest hole
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To tunnel through it like a mole
'Til at the very core of you
I'll burst with exaltation due
To Him that put thine skin in place
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And lent me sense, by Holy grace,
That I might see, and feel, and know
That beauty far surpass'd aught woe.