Sickly sweet sweat stains my face,

As Specters’ kisses dress my lips,

With ghostly fingers my shape they trace,

Caressing my cheek, my breasts, my hips.

Alien arms’ my waist embrace,

 Tethering me to despair

An iron crown of my disgrace,

Glorifying the shape and the burden they bare.

Coarse shackles grasp my thighs,

Chaffing the soft skin with dirty palms,

With probing eyes strangers apprise,

Maws declaring their qualms.

“Bless her heathen heart and damn the corrupting brute!

Get ye women out of those britches for the sake of Man’s repute.”