Burlesque

If I were pickled by the nub of love
A frigging girl who took me for a ride
Stole through her laws dissevering my estranged sting
of the bread tickle as the struggle strove
Stole it to catch a giggle from my tongue
I shouldn't bare the battle nor the blood
Nor the glad bud of making

    Shall it be stale your tale?Say the harbingers
    That stalk the mean girls for their ken
    I shouldn't bear the butting din of love
    if I were skittled by puffed enamours
    Searching heartbeat on an oar-edged swerve
    I wouldn't fear the null in the groin
    Nor the sullen rave