You submitted to my assignation.
I’m not worthy to pare your name.
The sensation of your creation
belongs to that Holy Dame.
I barked at you on the first night.
Two apples appeared in your hair.
One was red the other white.
I bit hole sum and seized a pare.
Maybe it was unconscious.
You sat back as I passed.
Your insides looked so luscious.
I cracked open and you bit back.
Now there was a third apple
crabby as can be
turning into a maple.
Sort of syrupy.
Naturally we had sympathy
I barked her to the back of that bed.
She farted leaving tactfully.
I wished her petrified but not dead.
For it’s sort of kind of unstable
to have intercourse with trees.
Cuz the power of words enable
all sorts of things to please.