ELEGY TO THE SADOMASOCHIST

 ELEGY TO SADOMASOCHIST

Whacked by supercilious brat and invectives infested uncouth tongue,the repressive durress within that ambience circumnavigated,ignited his tacit and so,he by temper swung,stood at a convenient hiatus,to the rampaging art.

Elegy.that in my heart,thy guilles all but interred ,wherein nature's heels,taught thee how to unfold chaste's flex at thy cloven hoofs.The more i say,the less thou art observed.Thy scorn art scold abhored,thou shouldest not abhor mine utterances,but in selfesteem,thy adore should be,if thy self esteem is blotted,more guilles at thy household,comes home to roost.

Contro.Sonnet--151-Chaste is too benign to abscond,where conscience pleads;yet who knows not how to chide,is born of scorn.Chaste Is too senile to know what foibles,to patch,yet,who knows not moult is crust of adamantine,then a greater whore,importunes her juicy sport,lest of mine refutation,thy aggrandised self elated be,for thou scornful of entreaty ,i do not elope.Mine intergrity,to part thee,of vile,mine fiend doth shoot as thy ignoble den,that thy household might trump and triumph in lust,as moult stays farthest behind pleadings.But rising impetuously as thy tolerance facade of licentiousness doth contendest with no patent guilt,contented with dreary eyes and thou art pleaded and pleased to dwell by the wayside.No fathomed piety,without conscience,hold nefarious fingers in high esteem.That 'chaste'for whose dear crust censure,i still sell thee.

Contro.Sonnet-152-In thine chide,that chaste is chaste,that saves multitude of souls.But thou art to be scolded a thousand times surfice.To thee that chide,might transact piety and break fallow ground.,for thou art not sworn,to thy piety vow'd.And breach,evidenc'd in thy fortitude,art strayed thy household,And all mine chaste and scoldings,sank its titanic and dreadnought,beneath seashore,flat fell,for the graveyard itself barely smears an earth for the dead.And every resolve is pothered by guilles of sentiment,and to elope thyself at thy writ and grit,consumate i nebula,or made thee slaves,at thy achilles heels;for have i mourn,a thousand fall unfair,as more perfidies,at thy faith,to cajole and censure a mammoth,with the pariah outcast and the wickedness of their gluttonous behind.

Contro.Sonnet-153-Scorn laid by brute barely fell asleep,a maid of honour,it glides thy marrow,And thy context,scornest kindled did sway with recompense,in an ephemeral, hedonism of lampooned chaste;wherein filial piety disdain'd uncouth lips,lively feeds,unfettered by rabidity doth abrasion kinky froth,which yet all foibles pleased to fathom,but at the guise of misty eyes,direst crowd frigid.