The Sensation of Pulsation

To pulsate puberectically, that’s what I want to do
Like a frothing wet vagina,
Or a butthole passing poo

Or a veiny, growing lizard with an eye and bulbous sac
Who grows and throws his lizard milk
In a sticky, white attack

To pulsate pulsate pulsate
Like a raisin in the sun,
It was a grape that swelled and burst
Now it’s the smoking gun

Of what is left of youth and past
A supple bodice, not built to last
A skin, no soul, merely a cast
A shining soul that lived too fast

But I digress,
I stress, I stress,
That the bodice is the upper part of a women’s dress
And well, I guess

To pulsate like a loving heart,
Is simply, always best

Yet to quiver like a chicken dick, well that’s a second close
Or a close second,
I meant to say
But that expression's so morose!

Which one, you ask, the chicken dick quivering?
Or the fact that I’m delivering,
My sentiments in jest
It’s the latter, yes you guessed.

Now, lest you return
Remember what you’ve learned
To pulsate is the very best,
To pulsate, and to burn