``Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me,'' said the

pig-me to the whore,

desperate for more in his assault upon the mountain.

Little man, his youth a fountain.

Overdrafted and still counting.

Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to

where he came from.

In the doorway of the stars, between Blandford Street

and Mars;

Proposition, deal. Flying button feel. Testicle testing.

Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left, divulging

the wrinkles of his years.

Wedding-bell induced fears.

Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.

International assistance flowing generous and full

to his never-ready tool.

Pulls his eyes over her wool.

And he shudders as he comes.

And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone

Road.