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deepundergroundpoetry.com

Dear Sir...

Dear sir, my fingers roam along a path
That you could venture down; it is as tight
As you might wish it to be from disuse;
My husband – he’s a limp wimp – you can laugh
As bitterly as you choose – it seems right
For you to slap my cunt – see – self abuse
Is something that I do on your behalf;
It shows me possibilities: you might
Enslave me or entrap me with a ruse
That I cannot see through – I am a calf:
Quite fatted for your slaughter – is the sight
Of me, here in the flesh, naked bar shoes,
something you can think of? Do you prefer
To muse on routes for your cock, my dear sir?
Written by SweetOblivion
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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