Such Conditions As Warrant Swift Kickings By Magistrates
Your claws, My Dear, are half your charm
But must you sink them in my arm?
Your teeth, as well, allure, delight
But why's it always me you bite?
I ask these questions not to irk
Perhaps, you have a fleeting quirk.
Which, by the way, is charming, too
Much like the leopards in the zoo
Your horns, My Dear, are works of art
But must you stab them in my heart?
Impale them in my nether groin
Whene'er I try to lick your loin?
I ask these questions not to rile
It's just my blunt ham-handed style
To find out, ere things get much worse
I'll have to rifle through your purse
| Contributors: | Kansas Sam, F, Chevalier, will h, Helen Owly, loaf, trad-ish. |
| Poem finished: | 8th January 2006 by Chevalier. |