I could fuck myself with a smooth-cut stone,
Plug my fingers inside some bubbling spring
To swallow earth’s squirts or make mountains spew,
So greedy my hands now, for you-- and you.
With polite purpose I entered the game,
Acknowledged set bounds were all for the best.
I let myself out when the fucking’s through:
Merry chirpers above, I wing off, blue.
Light-hearted was I, your gold-breasted toy.
Your senses to serve was a precious treat;
Bliss, games with such a pretty pair to play:
But sweet nights sour when love wakes not the day.
Hard hours we’ve wriggled in that wedded bed
But just two will fit the ensanctioned bounds.
Though my heart ill-flutters, I’ve still got wit
Enough to know, your nest this bird must quit.
Though soul longs to mingle with loving souls
When senses mix fearless in kisses, sex--
Sweet loves, my mates, I must renounce my prize,
Your garden: three can’t keep in Paradise.
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