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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Burned
The track was deep in shadow after noon,
As trees stretched out tired branches in a sun,
So pallid that it could have been the moon,
Which shone down cold; it had barely begun
To heat the fence or dry the winter mud,
When she was told to lean, ready for use;
She wondered if his spanking her would flood
Her mind with thoughts so tangible, each bruise
Would stay as livid, as when it was formed
A mere moment ago, when she was stripped;
As, with a certain fury, she was warmed:
Her haunches and her thighs were soon well-whipped;
,
She'd barely slid her jeans on, when he turned
And called: the sun is cold, but she got burned.
As trees stretched out tired branches in a sun,
So pallid that it could have been the moon,
Which shone down cold; it had barely begun
To heat the fence or dry the winter mud,
When she was told to lean, ready for use;
She wondered if his spanking her would flood
Her mind with thoughts so tangible, each bruise
Would stay as livid, as when it was formed
A mere moment ago, when she was stripped;
As, with a certain fury, she was warmed:
Her haunches and her thighs were soon well-whipped;
,
She'd barely slid her jeans on, when he turned
And called: the sun is cold, but she got burned.
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