a study toward sonnet #324 by FisherKingKQJ
I felt sick in my stomach with butterflies,
My eyes were blinking, darting mad,
I brought him to a brothel - his sighs
Said it all - he was deliriously glad.
This anniversary treat was a tribad-
I took the initiative with some vim-
And cash wasn't technically bad
With a sexy girl who'd kept herself slim.
The massage ensuite was halflit and dim,
On her thigh sat a scablike tattoo crab,
She ordered us to shower sounding prim-
He pushed her onto the black vinyl slab.
I pulled down my pants to sit on her face-
To doubt our hygiene she was a disgrace!
To doubt our hygiene, she was a disgrace!
To doubt our hygiene, she was a shame!
To doubt our hygiene, she was a tarnish!