Slave

Slave                            December 18, 2013

She lock'd me in her Bastille with her shackles

As her subito coitus slave and her rodeo ride:
With ev'ry erection, she just lets off evil cackles,

Ne'er will I be able to ensure my phallis can hide.

Swirling her lather'd tongue, musing what it takes,

To arouse and beckon me: "Come, Baby Cakes!"

I feel half-baked, buried amid my flaccid tire's mire,

Thy soul is smoldering, tho', inside her warm fire.

What shall I do to achieve for Saint Peter a lil' rest

As all I do is submit to her to be laid at her behest?

Honest Abe allegedly ne'er lied, but what about me?

He died ensconced amid thespians once 'pon a time,

He ne'er proclaim'd nor even said he'd emancipate me:

For if there'll be Spinning Jenny, it'll never be a crime!

Till thy secretions with thy soldiers fill her with need,

Thy head is so tired, pound'd purple post thy discharge.

'Tis I, Zeus the deus, and I shall spill to you thy seed!

And she, a libertine, loves Saint Peter since he is large!

I live at her plantation, playing in her muff my way,

Always on thy back for when she wants to come, to lay.

To her chambers, I shall go to thee! Salacity doth await!

I am ne'er paid till shot: all o' us mutual slaves copulate! 

I sip her sweat o' the flesh; she plays my fish o' the sea;

Drop thy anchor in her unchaste port a dead cherry!

May we make war in bed! Two arms, 'tis our genitalia  

From blackest o' nightly fun till the break o' sunlit dawn:

Let her spasm peak thee to her climatic mount'd regalia;

Till she sips thy milt o' thy dong's Big Bang's spawn!