Chancres are nodes impairing willie skin--
You moan when one comes in to view.
Chances are you have made love with someone who
Gave you exposure to the spirochaetes
When moaning when you were entwined,
Chancing darting in--not smart: latex left behind.

In the moshpit of the poontight,
Between thighs, like "Huis-Clos" here.
Channeled spar then is grievously marred;
Pustulous pies prompt purplish sties.

Then you feel mawful might be
A better form of lechery;
In buccal chink, your wood.
Then chance of marred, a chancred spar are not so good.

Where one hawks spit for a groom bite--
There to ply an enclosed spear.
Shangri La, the moue cleaved for the spar--
Purple prose purvey. . .unpursed wide.

When you've healed, it's jawful squeeze;
You've sunk your boneful hunk with ease.
When you choose chink for wood,
Don't chance a part for chancred spar; maw feels good.