quintessentially feminine

quintessentially feminine

 walking the streets of London

 deep in discourse on Gropecunt Lane,

on the list of words wanted back again;

niggardly bowdlerized to grape and pain.

a fair thought of country matters of money,

 hamlet laid disparaged between her legs.

to spear and shake but cherish the coo,

enlightened cockatrices on rabbits and honey.

cry out! speak the cunny into printly honour again.

 consciously awake, divinely, quintessentially feminine.

the cut exiled, trainspotting, coy, quaintly turns to dust

offending sensibilities, classically in the vulgar tongue.

quaint as they have come to be known,

 courageously reclaimed through ribaldry.

lady bitch, love your cuntly essence divine,

shockingly powerful muscling source of life.

rebirthing lady dike justice from poetic injustice,   

pussy, fan the flames between legs and words.

do not split the rock but quaintly stand on it, blunt.

embracing old white males coy mistress of quaint passions

and quaint manipulation, softly speak cunts– cunt’s– cunt–.

they thought you were a pussy cat,

 pusillanimous pricks on a witch-hunt.