What beauty doth lie sleeping next to me,
Cooing at my touch in gentle sighs,
The seconds tick, and drive thy mercury
To fever's pitch, inferno in thine eyes.
Thy perfect pleasures, soft and welcoming,
Mine every nerve alive in sensory bliss,
Fingernails and teeth that rend and sting --
No finer pleasure found, compared to this.
But soft! A question, if thine ears be well,
As thy frame grinds slowly on my lap:
What secret yearnings shalt our passions quell?
All of them and more besides, mayhap.
Bodies coil and twist til' morning's gone;
A lavish, carnal banquet till the dawn.
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