Week Woman

A Pox on the Patriarchy

Pastiche Of The Week – Shakespeare Sonnet 147

My love is as a beaver, searching still

For that which longer nurseth the damn fleas,

Feeding on me and my accursed Will,

The sadomasochistic appetite to please.

My scratcher, the physician to my love,

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

Hath left me, and I, desperate, now approve

Desire is death – indulgently I wept.

Past cure I am, now itching is past care,

And frantic mad with evermore unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as human’s are,

At random from the truth vainly expressed:

For I have scratched thy back, and itched thee right,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

3 comments on “Pastiche Of The Week – Shakespeare Sonnet 147

  1. Week Woman
    July 23, 2012

    Veni, Vidi, Vachey.

  2. Lit_Lover
    July 23, 2012

    Grow up, Vicar. This is of the finest, nuttiest pistaches I have yet tasted. Excellent work, WW!

    PS. how did the cow get into that picnic???????

  3. TheVicar
    July 23, 2012

    Hmm. I’d like to see this ‘loving beaver’ of yours.

Comments are closed.


This entry was posted on July 19, 2012 by in Pastiche of the Week and tagged , , , , , .

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