Imagine me and clew, tied to.
I’m linked; no doubt the stays are tight so that they bite.
You kink the one you’re thinkin’ of,
a square knot’s right.
Oh, clap me in tethers.

You will twine me up while I’m supine,
and that will help elongate me—
align my spine.
Images of a girl like you freshen my mind—
oh, slap me in tethers.

I can see: handcuffin’ is lovin’ for you.
A Duncan Phyfe
chair is what I would like you to fix me to—
don’t tell my wife!

Me is bruised; when bruised is me
on the rash you will toss some ice
then set me free.
But only one minute, then you will re-noose me.
Oh, trap me in tethers.

I can see: handcuffin’ is lovin’ for you—
we love this life.
When we are all done for the day, cut the clew
with a sharp knife.

Me is bruised; when bruised is me
on the rap you will talk so nice
first, then sternly
like a nun who will rap knuckles vigorously. . .
rule slap on the nethers.

Me is bruised; when bruised is me
on the rash you will toss some ice
then set me free.
The day is done, but we’ll resume nocturnally,
so happy to tether,
so happy in leather,
Bound-up endeavors.
We’re birds of a feather,
so happy with tethers
and banded with fetters.
So slap, please! glute nethers,
oh rap, please! glute nether,
go, spank, please! glute nethers.