A keyhole glimpse of pubic hair
as she washes in the bowl:
dark secret of a dirty blonde,
while floorboards creak in ecstacy
and dawn is one wet dream away.
She grips my grandpa's cock
in a stranglehold behind its bulbous head,
to milk the venom that distends his veins:
blood black with canker,
skin patterned pale as frost.
She is the hoar-princess
who tells me tales of Grendel,
while I ogle cellulite
that crinkles below her knicker-line:
a fjord between two ice-capped mounds.
