Can I? Do I dare?
At passions door, so often
I but stand and stare.
Onward, instinct cries.
Soft features tinged with passion.
Think! What purpose? So reason denies.
Oh God, if only I could fashion
Some way to live a life,
Knowing full measure
Both reason and passion.
Time and effort rewarded at last.
Beautiful, all class.
‘Neath she lays, taunt, bare.
Tight arse, breasts firm, so rare.
Wondrous eyes, souls rapture deep.
I’m going to enjoy putting it in there.
Juices warm, nectar on the tongue, sweet.
Moans soft and low.
Stroke firm, stay slow.
Damn Descartes you got it wrong
Not cogito, but copulo ergo sum.
© 1991 Graham Little