I Was Her Bull And She Milked Me Dry Poem by James McLain
I Was Her Bull And She Milked Me Dry
In fields of trust, I grazed the green,
Her strong white hand, a milking queen.
With gentle strokes, she coaxed the flow,
Yet snapping turtle bites would show.
Her touch, a dance on udders bare,
A rhythm spun with utmost care.
But in the shadows, secrets lie,
I was her cow she milked me dry.
Through sunlit days and moonlit nights,
Her grip held fast, relentless bites.
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8/30/2026 2:19:56 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
