There’s the bite of coffees,

freshly expressed:

a test of my resistance;

a test I’m bound to fail

by every means known to


And that loaded answer replies my

loading questions, like

shotgunned cart

ridged bags of curly crisps:

peculiar days which burnray my dark

with the light of your smiling

blonde-framed mistress

pieced together airs and maces:

God you’re tough, and

God I love your toughness, and

God I love your steel dear woman;

God I love your feel under

my fingered,


non-conforming spiel.

And an iceberg of sez becomes

a rising sea of sex-


usual end-


and yes my dear,

devour me my dear;

tell me I’m wrong;

tell me my longing member-

shipped straitlacing will be the

undoing of you.

For it’s your undoing I want.

It’s your undoing, my treasure.

It’s your undoing, my pleasure.

It’s your undoing,

my undoing …

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