Whip Workmanship
Each burning blow
Starts from below
And envelopes my brain
In almighty pain
That spreads up my spine
Making me whine
Making me yell
As it takes me to hell.
Crack after crack
Splits open my back
And behind me her sock
Creases to mock
My dance of pain
On the pole of shame
As she exercises her power
For a full, fearful hour.
And when she is spent
I fall and repent
By kissing her feet
As I beggingly bleat
For sweet feminine pity
At her sneakers so pretty
Though they are soiled by dust
As a result of her lust
For wielding the whip
With such workmanship.