Today is 7 Akbal 11 Xul

517 shopping days until 4 Ahau 3 K’ank’in.

Via “A girl’s guide to taking over the world” on Facebook.

The deadpan, bored expression on the girl’s face as she flicks up her skirt to flash the giant, hairy merkin straped to her crotch just slays me. The various expressions on the faces of passers-by are priceless. Every time I play it, I dissolve into a fit of hyena-he-hes.

I’ve posted this Storm Large viddy before, but it makes a nice, um, matching bookend to the other, and the song brings similar good cheer to my black little heart—if the vagina fits, wear it:

Vaginistas of the World, UNITE!

Mercy Dotes

In the small hours like lost and found
gloves lacking mates,
my fingertips have closed the stars
embroidered on the wet folds
inside the peaked tent
of your vagina
like eyes brimming with unfallen tears.
My hands need you.
Lambs in wolves’ clothing,
conjoined twins creep
cloaked in their hairy pelts
among the sleeping pack—
all the moondogs held in sway
to the lucent
virtuoso play of cello,
a fit of gleams down your flank.
Sure as your own pups,
my hands find suck—
The little jaws work,
milk fangs nip,
red tongues lap at your teats,
swabs of damp velvet.
In these blind hours like spoons
asleep in a drawer
my hands are orphan ladles
dousing the witch
steam of your rich broth.
Romulus and Remus
keen to the alpha,
hungry for the weep
of beestings
startled from your nipples.

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