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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Quenched
The moon is quenched in cloud; she feels alone:
She’s frightened and she’s sickened by the thought
That she is just a cunt who must be taught
The ways to please her master – every moan
She draws from him may well improve the tone
Of those caustic remarks that she’s not sought,
But takes now as her due for she’s been caught
In his web and his victory: the groan
Of master, as he spurts across her face,
Is just enough to make her come at will;
With viscous fluid making a damp shroud
That spatters all the features of her face;
And all past aspirations - he will kill
As if they too had all been quenched in cloud.
She’s frightened and she’s sickened by the thought
That she is just a cunt who must be taught
The ways to please her master – every moan
She draws from him may well improve the tone
Of those caustic remarks that she’s not sought,
But takes now as her due for she’s been caught
In his web and his victory: the groan
Of master, as he spurts across her face,
Is just enough to make her come at will;
With viscous fluid making a damp shroud
That spatters all the features of her face;
And all past aspirations - he will kill
As if they too had all been quenched in cloud.
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