Time to Taste

The birch, the ash and willow do not care,  
As they caress the flesh and leave a mark  
To represent a kiss on skin that's bare  
And ready for the kindnesses he'd park  
Upon the backside, haunches and the breast,  
In a swift exercise to deal with gripes  
And commonplace complaints that will just rest  
Unanswered as my female form is striped;  
And behaviour improves, as does the chance  
Of fetching blushes on my dimpled cheeks,  
That have the right to wriggle and to dance,  
Given they've been needing this for weeks,  
I'll draw my skirt up high, sir, take my perch  
And enjoy tasting willow, ash and birch.