Revised sonnet #68
I chase as social scientist sometime sleuth
The fallen Fort St sisters story line
The blush of coloured cheeks a gory wine
The lighting soft and stark in total Truth
If parents simply spread the genes infirm
If sluts to fate awake assert themselves
Investigative journalism there delves
I wring the hands afraid of flimsiest germ
I reckon blame on Randolph clitoris
Your nibbled nipples decadent hors doeuvres
That vulva vague you finger buried nerves
As culprits calibrate theyre hit or miss
To press the cotton drawers and pantaloons
Of classy whores an inkling silver spoons
Chorus pantaloons pantalonger pantaloni
