How much better to be owned by another
when running one's life is a tiresome task.
Not to mention a job that's been botched.
It's been a time of acquisitions. Multi-national
conglomerations gobbling up each other.
Companies serve as food, or are sold as scrap.
Loyalty and tradition, these count for nothing.
But loyalty and tradition are codes I live by.
Words, actions, thoughts, feelings, physical
responses planted in my organs, set to go off
in explosions of trembling, contractions and
moaning when given an order. Even a word,
one word said in passing, triggers an earthquake.
So here. Here I am. Without hesitation
I give you this deed to my heart and my soul.
And oh yes, my body is part of the deal. Skin,
tissues, pleading orifices flushed with desire,
betraying their passion in patches of moisture
left like a snail's trail wherever I go. All yours.
The lawyers go over the list before we sign the deal.
Mouth? Check. Nipples? Check. Tits and belly,
butt and pussy, strangled throat that like the rest
betray the signs of prior use. The test drive had been
long. All involved examine the merchandise.
Condition accepted as satisfactory.
And the contract is signed.
With my blood.