Testo Fat Chance

More slowly
Come here please
Can he see
The two eyes
Doing our best to sing

You must keep quiet
The hands are the organs of feeling Unforgiving and
Leaving nothing not killed
When you remove my gloves
One hundred gold
Night-dresses
Flayed open

How many fingers
Must you put in my mouth
To muffle my apology

And precious, how
You scream like an alley cat
Yet go home to lick your masters hands
With our mouths open Everybody laughed

Fat chance and
Mouth
Under the mouth
Ask him how many
Fingers he has