Work Text:
O what can ail thee, concierge,
So ragged, and so unemployed?
When’er a schoolboy passes by,
You look annoyed.
In the lobby I met a boy,
Full fuckable, a fairy fag;
His legs were long, his arse was tight;
He carried a bag.
I saw a lily on his brow,
With ardour moist and fever-dew,
And tween his cheeks a flowering rose
I’d stem anew.
I set him on my pricking stick
And nothing else did all day long,
And forward would he lean, and back
And squeeze my dong.
I nibbled on his weeping head,
And nipples too, and collarbone;
He looked at me as I made love,
And made sweet moan.
I fed him root of relish salt,
And honey hot, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange he said,
I like you, too.
I took him to an empty room
And there he wept and sighed full sore,
As there I shagged his tight, tight arse
With cockings four.
And there he suckled me asleep
And there I creamed his mouth inside
The largest load I ever creamed
On a warm bedside.
I saw pale guests and waiters too,
Pale managers, pricks all pale and hard;
They cried—‘La Bellboy trés Sauci
Hath stole thy card!’
I saw his arselips in the dream,
With horrid whorings gapèd wide;
The manager shook me awake
And said, ‘You’re fired.’
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the guests have vanished from the suites,
And no bell rings.