O,
if only words
could contain the undying lust that sprays from your beauty.
Some men till for you.
Others build moutains.
I, so humbly, take privilege in your mere existence.
No words can describe mere beauty anymore,
at least not in your tongue.
And what of your tongue?
I see you are blatantly bored by my banter.
Am I to touch your leg?
(I hear a violin)
What's that running form your pants?
I swear, it burst from your zipper.
Is this a jungle? Are we at war?
Why do you pant this way,
and why do you sweat so much?
Allow me to continue...
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