What would I do with your balls, were they mine?
Would I hang them by their shorthairs from my long painted nails?
And crack a grin as they dropped, splat splat, on the floor?
No, I wouldn't do that with your balls, were they mine.
But I'd put them instead in some sort of shrine.
I'd fondle them daily, and keep them in line,
and give them a licking from time to time.
Yes, that's what I'd do with your balls, were they mine.
poem from BREAKING IN
image from COMFORT AND JOY
