Eton mess for pudding

Port in your veins instead of blood (passed to the right)

and flesh that’s made of stilton dough

a soft soft pushing through your pastry paunch would go right through

no spine to stop my finger

spread you

milk fed calf balloon head


when nanny dressed your marsh a mellow toes in little socks

your frilly shirt and Purdie blond

you soggy mash

you uncooked suet pud

Rule me?

Oh get to fuck

you’d fling your viscous weight awash

all saturate from fats and wine

a sloshing ooze

you don’t scare me

you terrify.





 Rachel McGladdery

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