Mysterious Jill

To make love to mysterious Jill
Is a secret and singular thrill,
Or perhaps even plural,
In bed, or more rural,
She makes love with magical skill!

Yet about her’s an air strangely chill:
Yes, she’s gorgeous, enchanting, but still,
To gaze into her eyes,
Though it logic defies,
It’s as if, as they say, looks could kill.

Her eyes bore into one like a drill,
Angels sing, but discordant and shrill.
Though she plays on your trust,
Still, consumed by your lust,
You plunge in, and submit to her will.

One is left like one’s been through the mill:
You feel sated, and yet strangely ill.
In your heart there’s a void,
You’re complete, yet destroyed,
Thoughts of other girls crumble to nil.