inside a bamboo cage
she looked refined
unwashed and petulant,
dressed in a cotton rag
eyes cried predicament,
a wild girl’s silver tag
worn ’round the Roman neck
hands folded, God is dead-
a smudged and crimson fleck,
defiance holds her head.
I pay, it matters not,
all what is mine is hers.
Her skin is red and hot,
she will have real furs
and live to serve just me,
I shall be master now
and teach this little bee
the why, the when, the how.
where raging sea meets skyand hot air risesand takes youover valleys and small towns,in huge balloons.Then we would go inside,I’d watch you shave your legswhile I could feast my eyeson all of you.We then would talkuntil no wordswould have been left unsaid.I’d be the closest I could beto touch your skin,to breathe your fragranceand imprint…
met there a frog who was all greenone day a hog just wandered byhe wore a tog and did some gruntingThat night the fog came to the treesnearby, a bog was filled with soundsa demagogue was in there, campingdrinking eggnog from silver cupand was agog at goings onwent for a jog around the pinesthen said…
Don’t blink, don’t breathe, don’t think, don’t flinch.Just stand there Darling, look imperious.As I’m about to pull you close,my arms around you, sturdy grip.The closest thing to a red roseis your sweet mouth, your blood-red lips.This lesson, once it’s fully learned,it must be practiced every day.Until your stripes are fully earned,but let’s continue, if I…
if punishment would be the friggin HellI’d stay on site and send a connaisseur’s own wink.It does not mind to have its hood slipped downfor purposes of carnal negligée,the silly grin you see says, get me, see (?) no gown.I am the guardian of the Royal Passageway.
Aber iss, Jung’ Du musstwisch sie weg, diese Frustdenn sonst komm ich selber mal rueber.Isst Du wenig bekommst Du ein Fieber.Also nage am Zeug wie ein Bieber.Und entspanne den Nackendenn dann kannst Du gut kackendoch zuviel und der Schieber laeuft ueber.Und ich frag mal, wie alt sind die Schwestern?Steh’n sie rum um zu tuscheln und…
she was a prude and asked me whyI’d want her in my bed.I said, my dear I need to knowif there’s another patchof ipsicolour down belowshe said, you want my snatch.No, I replied, it’s not like that,but while you’re wearing jeansI cannot see your pussycatnor ascertain your genes.You see, if red you are as wellwherever…
