Kinky leather belt

Dead skin flakes on its rim

Hangs among the dress shirts

In hazy silence dim.

It missing ruddy flesh

Beneath its stinging bite

The pale and silken beauty

That gives to it no fight

It used to be content

To whistle through the air

And when the streaming streaks of wine

Slid down the skin so bare,

With inner glee the belt would crack

Then double back for more,

So sweet and sinful in its play

It's kiss a purple soar.

Those days long gone,

So to the fun,

The nights of parent meetings

Have only just begun,

Where the kinky leather belt must sit,

And listen as they drone,

On about the child dear,

Whose fault it was

The kinky belt’s now hanging all alone.