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.

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