There should be no speculation in my gut.
I know his preference;
my honey loves only me.
He devours every inch of me,
especially when I strut.
But why then do I get
this sneaking suspicion in my gut
that our love line has been cut?
Did it hurt boy,
when you swallowed a dictionary?
I, too, have had a love-affair with words.
I, myself, have swallowed four
or was it three?