Petals on the Path

There are petals on the path like the pieces of the dress,
He now wraps around her body in a loving caress,
When he is quite done with fucking her little virgin holes:
They resisted for a while, though she’d fallen to the shoals
Of compliments – those fishes – they tempted her to sin,
That she could not imagine, until she’d given in
And he’d unstrapped her breasts and had lifted up the hem
Of the white dress he would tear and wrap round her to stem
The bleeding of the whore, who he’s had in every way
A lost girl can expect when she surrenders to the play
Of a man, whose intersection with the junction of her thighs
Will be brutal and so sudden, it brings tears to her eyes;
She’s a cunt; she’s there for usage; she’s ready to obey;
He tells the whore to open; she won’t hesitate - delay:
It’s not a tactic he’ll allow; he will test her mettle;
And the pieces of her dress are his path-covered in petal