a study toward sonnet #612 by FisherKingKQJ
Her hourglass figure had been slow drip-fed
Into the leather red and white catsuit;
My panoramic, weary eyes were led
Into her crisscross sportsbra cleavage flute.
Her tight red ringlets were red to the root,
Contrived and fanned out, on her shoulders slung;
She pushed off bangs with a dismissive hoot,
She looked disdainful, the which might've stung.
From her eyes two blue steely knives were flung
Into the back of his thick, well-groomed skull,
And catching me catching her, her tongue
She poked at me, my testimony to annul.
I could play masochist for this good looker,
This nightclub turned puffs of pressure cooker.
(Chorus)
I could play masochist for this good looker. SPADES
I could play masochist for this good sighter. CLUBS
I could play masochist for this good visioner. DIAMONDS
[Autocube3 - autocue for 3d interactive movies.]