Once More Into The Birch
Some girls lash their thoughts across the bow.
There's no deceit their features will allow.
Still others brood unseen behind a mask.
To gauge their undertow's an uphill task.
This latter case befits my mistress Flo
the portrait of reserve from head-to-toe.
In time, I'd learn her modest hems belied
a tendency fit only to be tied.
My own predation stationed on its knees,
I came to see her forest for my trees.
Her kinks ran to pain-- how I cried
when Miss Jekyll set to birching Mr. Hyde.
With strokes more liberal than fuddy-duddy,
she left my cheeks -all four- a crimson ruddy.
The 'neophyte' had been a subterfuge!
‘Twas bloodlust lurked beneath that dab of rouge!
Thus bent, I wish to claim a bait-and-switch
and redden ever further as a snitch:
What I misread as virtue most resistant
spared nothing as the Devil's rapt assistant.