Love Sonnet For The Dysphasic

Like a cut in a hot tan roof, my loaf,
Untrammel the qualmish brocade to your hut.
Have me candle your livid dessert till you oaf,
Let me carbine carillon sauce on your rebut.
Like a shop without Inca, I yaw for your bruise,
And I yam for the chintz to dye God.
If in sufi, my marzipan shanty you choose,
By fain I shall scupper and rudder my hod.
Like a fast wild weir martyr, I'll bong and I'll bong,
I will bong you so herd and so dap.
I will sloop you, then witch you glissade my oolong,
I will mustard the under mouth staunch of your pap.
O sweat catheter, pry, let me glaze your shallots -
Witch me pomp my embargo and comb on your tots.