That which lies between thy thighs is modest, chaste, yet wry
As drollery that ne'er is writ to amuse the quaking lover's heart.
When slightly draped with tapered silk, colored by the tailor's dye,
Like mystery to ravel out the sphinx's lust or target Cupid's dainty dart,
I would then glance upon romance all purely toned and nested smile
And place a kiss of warm desire where thy flame burns brightest white.
But in the coils of serpent rope thy wrists are turned to Dom beguile,
Likewise the heart that beats within the rising breasts like angels' flight;
All thought is fled or held abeyant to the conquest and the sigh
While we -- mere players -- act our scene as if the story ceases ne'er.
Were you the slave in chains of silver, I the king who knots your tie
Would you then discover, lover, what pleasures come when all lies bare?
Tell me what in whispers come when you on me do think and want
And I shall tell thee of caresses, kisses, and the pleasures that do haunt.

-By GreyJack