David Sprehe

Britney Spears (Not Her, Her. Over There):
A Love Poem

The hairy, sweaty ass quivered, then fart crapped.
A pair of fat, pale yellow worms wiggled out.

The worms coiled together
underneath the butt breath and fecal splash,
and humped their sensitive suction flesh.

More worms crawled out the butthole.

Soon the floor was an orgy,
a din of suction love-play.

The butt trumpeted,
shat, spewing black purple
blood and steamy clumps.

The worms orgasmed,
melted, melded,
rose as single entity
and entered the butthole.

The butt exploded.

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