Fatal Forms of Flattery.

FATAL FORMS OF FLATTERY.
sneak technique

I verge on the ridiculous -
when I talk to you.
The fuel to my erection.
The hole I want to screw.
Acting 'cool' is difficult -
when hormones steal your voice.
I stumble on defiantly.
I have no other choice.
'I'd like to see you naked'
'Do you give good head?'
'Are your tits for real?'
'Was it something that I said?'
I nurse a wounded ego -
and a shiny blackened eye.
Fair-weathered friends disown me.
I'm high but not so dry.
It's a fatal form of flattery -
I've perfected skilfully.
I only insult pretty girls -
who seldom look at me.
My pride forever battered.
Panel-beaten black and blue.
Reshaped and re-designed -
to a standard set by you.
Rewarded like a puppy.
The hound that tags along.
Seen in seedy places,
but not for very long.
Kept on a very short lead.
My place is at your feet.
My towering dominatrix.
Revenge so bitter-sweet.

sneak technique