But Wasn't It Just Purest Blue Poem by Mark Heathcote

'I've watched these horizontal skies turn grey…
But wasn't it, every bit heavenly ‘love' today'.
When I stripped you: down, snatched your snatch.
With that middle finger, foreplay, whorl-
Of those warm ejaculations in the thatch.
'Sure there are dark clouds ever vengeful'.

Luckily for me snug fittings, black-brassieres
Ready to dispatch, but look here peel the veneer
On this early prefab Ikea Beach-table?
Sure those spindly legs once a-time were stable.
But whose goanna—want for it?Go for it,
Now it wobbles all over like an old—tit.
Without-turned legs on an oak-cabinet?
(Now loins curdle for a little—strumpet) .

Ladies in cocktail dresses, don't trust men it's true.
'Karma sutra should have listened to Vishnu'…
Men can be B******'* sure he blew on his conch—shell
When he held his mace and skies turned pastel-
Shades of purest blue, with honesty, and virtue!
Even He knew? He wasn't free of passions veiled tissue.

'Love I've watched all kinds of skies, turn, blue to grey…
But wasn't it just purest, ‘blue' my ‘love' today'.