I am the poet of passion,
Of lust as well love,
Of the sexual fashion,
Do I write of,
Of infinite pleasures,
Do I sing and have sung,
And not just words without measures,
Can I roll so well with my tongue,
I write of pink pastures spread wide and wet as a dream,
Of firm ample peaks with the sweetest high beams,
I write of kitties and bums and mouths that go hum,
Of moans and of groans one waits impatiently to come,
These things I all rhyme for you as well me,
Who would have thought words could be so sexy!
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