Her Dreams Are His

Her dreams are his. She thinks them bad. Delights
Will be intensified, despite the scorn
That she is bathed in, through the days and nights,
While he humiliates her with a storm
Of such degrading comment'ries; she'll bear
Them with no dignity, but with a damp
And moistened cunt at each cold thought; he'd scare
Another witless, she shares wetness; stamp
The loss of the demeanour never had;
And never dreamed of in her wildest thoughts;
She's mortified that all those dreams are bad;
But they are his; so, cheapened, she has sought
Indignities in each abasement that
Ensures her holes are his - oh! sweet doormat.