The whole of me within a vice-grip stuck,
Like hand of mine betwixt her thighs, I felt.
‘Tis hard for me to believe that my luck
To my free hand a Queen of Hearts has dealt.
Perhaps it is the gamblers tendency
To ramble on when he fancies his cards;
To stay out late when night shows clemency,
Use naked hands to sweep up broken shards.
As a gambler, I have spent every last dime
To win a pair of branches flesh like those.
And I’ve exhausted almost all my time,
Have stripped my back to bare and sold my clothes.
Now from my empty pocket rises the sun
And finally, a set of legs I’ve won.