Burn, the midnight oil,
Like the gentleman he claimed,
Was a slave to feelings none -
For his desires had been tamed.
Yet an itching bit obsessed was he
With one and only one,
A muse to his success, was she
Her place his heart was won.
Fair and fumed and sweat, was she
This sickly healthy nymph,
Thrice an hour her hair she brushed,
And this was life, her blesséd sip.
And burn burn did for his desires,
While slept sweat did for hers,
So when implacid passion dazzled
He bought her door with dainty flowers:
She smirked and catered to his charms
Played patient in his loving arms
Awaiting naught but phallic bliss
Awaiting homosynthesis, so
Sweat when like a raindrop shed
A tear she beat and fell to bed,
Smug here where she sold her gift -
His eyes rolled and she never bled,
His eyes rolled and she never bled.
She smiled her craft. A woman chaste, like Mary said,
His eyes rolled and she never bled.
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