Fools I obey. I kiss no vicars. It agitates me to pain some. Spanked among heretics, I am no birthplace. I make up my moving, put on lipstick and pardon my lips. I swab thighs. I lay men in my bedlam. I do it wrongly. To be endangered.

At my bed I kneel. Olden bedspreads. My bedridden possessor. I receive thistle here.

O take me to a father working, finessing the wayward girls in themes, yellow housewives, unrecognized lovelies.

He always caterpillars up to me. A low cupping. Ringing my mound. A gleam seen in fancy backbones.

Soak me in tub games. Pause. See my figure washing up.