Dare I compare thee to a summer's storm?

Thou art more sultry and concupiscent:

Tempestuous winds blow with fickle form, 

And lightning’s fire all too quick before spent;

Sometime too brief the rumbles of thunder, 

And often hath his electricity wane;

Storm’s stamina is sometime a blunder,

By chance or nature's changing course in vain;

But thy thund’ring rapture shall not be swift,

Nor lose sexual vibrations thou ow’st;

Nor shall parting clouds leave thou cunt adrift,

When in eternal rumbling lust thou grow’st:

So long as men bury their cocks in thee,

Long lives thou fervor, and wetness to see.