Like Snow White in a heat of kink

I’ve lost my most. Glad

handles my mouth. Closed

in a cellar situation, I’ve never had

the satisfaction of cereal. When

I’ve done a pray I walk away. If

they so wished they could drang me

but haven’t yet. If you’ve done your homework

you know that an axe in kind has half a mind

to. And possibly fro but that depends. It’s one

(that one) beyond mistake. So much so that

Shame sends Horn home. Can you recall the issue

of the noise of the skirt he wore? A forced entry

(it says so here) is a commodity that sits ‘twixt betrothal

& the next guy. With him we’ll never know

if it’s dogs or crows. Or a five collar job

in Flute City. Therapeutically loyal,

we’re trading blows. Each numbered

as arousal, with eunuchs in attendance. What

in pink cups they bring us to quaff is the same

as that stuff in black cups. Or so we’re told. Me? –

collared & caned with no safe word I’d urge

some spill. As all mess eventually must

in this is there too much of us?