Snowy Landscapes

The sunset sends the softest, pinkest glow  
Over the snowy landscape; it intrigues  
Me how your footsteps wend their way and go  
Away from houses and towards the trees;  
And there they stop beside a fallen trunk,  
That's lost its bark in places, and is bare  
As I am; since you ordered: "Strip, sweet cunt."  
I know the fallen ash and I will pair  
Up prettily together, as you turn  
And cut a switch to employ on my rear,  
Which surely is in need: I almost burn  
To feel the discipline and shed the tear  
That slides down cheek after your baker's blows,  
Which match the landscape with the pinkest glows.