Can I bone one tonight?
Can I slip it in tight.
Can I get the two to rift apart?
You think I mean "fille," eh? But I'm talking fillet.
It's the piscatorial sweet part.
Do you care that my parlance might cause you to hear
Double entendre missteps, like "prick up your ears"?
Is it hard where there's "pain"? That's brick-like bread. . .français.
As I feared, that bone aperture's tight.

Spoken:
I wonder if I can bone one for meat.
Ewe? No! Finned one, skinned and laid in plaice.
I'll breach and thrust in hard.
Wait, I'm filleting with gloves. Grab on the meat part.
Crack one--it's very wet; some drips on my pants.
It's red inside, so tenderly I move and dip into
The gash and crack two. Stuff spurts like rain, and it can stain
The stiff handle, you know.
Running out toward my thighs. . .glad I gloved me.
When will it stop spouting, this goo?
I'm going to dive in, right where it lies,
Grab it and yank it right out--coup!
Of ribcage it's bare; now no prick will pare
Esophagus as it goes down.
And should it come back up on me,
It'd rain painlessly to the ground.

"Was it hard on your 'main'"?
(There's that français again.)
She says, "Dear, eat it, bon appétit!"
(Sounds to me just like, "boner's petit!")