Better Than Starbucks!

ECCCCH!

( After Paul Reboux and Charles Müller’s
  Baudelaire parody Ut Eructent Quirites)

In your jade palace, where the fancy mulls,
I watch, dear Spleen, as hookah-bubbles fidget,
The curious coupling of a brace of trulls —
Chum-Chum, the giant, and Sélika, the midget.

The tiny partner is a pure jet-black,
Her mate, quince-yellow, like some huge smooth fruit,
Both cruelly linked on Copulation’s rack,
Their disproportion in obscene dispute.

To guarantee a glory less opaque
I shall compare them to those burnt-out dragons
A poet’s love trails in its flaming wake
As fiery engines pull prosaic wagons.

The sick Elvira  heads the hideous band;
Her tenderest words were laced with blood and scum;
All bone-stretched skin, taut to her lover’s hand,
Her thorax echoed like a kettle-drum.

Cassandra next, and long lubricious hugs
From ravished Ronsard’s queen of kitchen-wenches,
A garland — lukewarm, limp — of dangling dugs
And rustic armpits’ suffocating stenches.

Then blesséd Laura, on whose modest worth
The bard she spurned wrote lines to cheat the tomb
Though every year increased her body’s girth
With babies bouncing round her bourgeois womb.

Last of these succubi, that Beatrice
Whom Vampires black-balled, Ghouls, the Damned, the Devil,
Flung down in shame, amid a general hiss,
From Hell to poor old God’s insipid level!

Revolting sisters of these sloughs of Art,
Vile sources of a liquid ranked divine,
Surfeit and saturate my hopeless heart
And wipe its memory clean with Vice’s wine!

Fiercely persist in ever fiercer pleasure,
Ply lash and birch to break through your inertia,
Until Lust’s barbs impale beyond all measure
Your writhing forms that twist like gutta-percha.

And in the rank hutch of your marriage-bed
Where all that’s loathsome lies with all that’s lewd
Spawn in my sight, to fill the world with dread,
STERILITY, first of your monstrous brood!