Ms. Gyllenhaal

Aye, I would ask Maggie Gyllenhaal
to be my bride, with her feisty call,
and looseness of her expressive doe,
above, and under her doen breasts I’ll go:

but her new child meets, most devoutly,
so I’ll remain unfed, to lie quietly,
as my wife lambastes, half-heartedly,
my ask of Maggie? They both laugh at me.

[Poem #863]