Truss Poem by Armand Miller

Truss

Allow me this moment
to recant a memory if you will
Young, light skin, the kinda thighs that got thick
from too many nights up with big momma
the legs that end real cute and petite
mmm but we'll get back to that
for now let's address her breast
full marks, Grade A with the set of Ds
she lay before me welcoming
so I allow her a choice of rope or leather
And we begin
under and over both ankles
Tighten and bend across but don't resist
id hate for you to fall apart before I've had my fill
tighter
that's a good girl
show me just how eager you are
for my tongue to dance on your flesh
Grip and cross your thighs, flip you over
So that I can punish this ass appropriately
let's see
we didn't eat before I got home, clap
water only once clap
herbs not picked and yet we clearly had every intention of being stuffed clap
I take the rope up under your breast
and along your back
brace along your throat and we'll hold
I need you to understand
the following continues
until my appetite is sated
I clench the rope and feel your neck bob in approval.
flip you back and watch as the vision before me intensifies
I can't resist. Just a quick lil tease if you will
I slide my fingers into you
and watch as your body writhes and wiggles
with every brush against your walls
cupped under your breast and along your back
we must be sure you're as secure as possible
and now the fun
you wanted to be my star yes?
so if I lather you in liquids And finish you nice
you'd make a movie with me
barbaric I know
how dare I ask such a thing after getting you presentation ready
alas
Massaging your oils in all over you
making sure to cover every bit
and watch, as your temperature rises
with every slide across skin
you call me a personal heater
and yet here you are getting cooked
for hours as my play thing
but I did say presentation must be done
and you deserve to be shown to the world
so I think I'll finish
right across your breast
and serve you to the next man
who dare claim you as his while my body
leaves lingering flavor on yours
bon appetite
while roasted chicken and a beaten white sauce
there's extra in back

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
It's food. I promise
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