The Petite Erotic Poet

Two buns and some meat
A burger or some anal
Two drums of some skeet
The synagogue or the cradle
I have chosen the crib
The results could be fatal
This baby needs a bib
Some cream cheese for its bagel
It wants to reason with me
It’s age makes it unable
I’d ignore it if it could
Some would call me unstable  
We sit at opposite ends
Of the mahogany table
I think “slip the tip in”
I want my hog in ye, Mable
But before I throatpie the infant
I gift my sack with a staple
My cock oozes sweet syrup  
I’m not talkin’ bout maple

Tickle the cock, the balls, and the gooch
Then come around
Give anus a smooch

she is certain she knows the way
carves a crevasse into my heart
 
cruel princess of submission
glides above the ballroom
baltic arms extended
with cold precision  
she reaches for her throne
 
imperial mistress
she is certain what she wants
 
famine and fever
men cannibalised for her attention
beaten to the edge of ruin
until there is nothing left
beaten stupor and raw
beaten for the perilous crown
to dethrone her king
 
my royal highness flush
her magical fabric
clinging for dear life
against her untouchable skin
 
my desire
ablaze
like flames through a mine shaft
 
she claims what is hers
worship
weakness
and fortune
 
a princess who takes everything
and a blind man
beheaded for love