When lay,
I had decided,
I should with you astride
it,
When we had fornicated
With no one of
our sorts –
And “
Yea, you’d best believe it”
My
tongue allowed bequeath it
Before I had yet
sheathed it
I knew it was just
sport.
But took me as I came you
And came not to estrange you,
Alas, I,
to enjoy you,
And thorough it was good;
That language that I
pursued
Was hardy spoke to hurt you,
And since
what we had gone through
I knew it never could.
I’m certain you had smiled,
And giggled as a child,
So raging,
quiv’ring, wild,
On that one midnight’s
ride;
But will you have gone
mild
As
clarity might style
Beside what rum had riled –
Or
hold it you to hide?
Recall, my friend,
‘twas nothing
But
we and wonder brushing,
And not some foolish rushing,
Nay, ‘twas no
son of haste.
And should you be forgetting
Those
tastes that we were whetting
Within that
seldom setting,
I just might call it
waste.