“Come to bed, my sweet boy!” she cajoled,
Her voice husky and barely controlled.
“I’m no blushing young bride,
But we’re all pink inside!
Be a good lad, and do what you’re told!”
Tag: bride
Pretty in white
There she lay, wearing nought but a smile,
She beside whom he’d walked down the aisle.
She’d looked pretty in white,
He exclaimed , in delight,
But looked prettier now, by a mile!
Confession
With her sweetest, most charming expression,
She murmured, “I have a confession…
Before we were wed,
I perhaps should have said
That I worked at world’s oldest profession.”
Flustered
Though she’d secretly longingly lusted,
Confused, she grew hopelessly flustered:
The poor blushing bride
It seemed couldn’t decide
To be glad or appalled and disgusted.
The meat market
Having sex is commodity trading,
A fact there’s no way of evading.
A fuck’s something of value
A girl wants to sell you:
Men, mostly, don’t need much persuading.
In the end, every girl has a price,
Call it courtship, or pleasure or vice.
It’s a market where man
Does the best that he can.
Like fine dining, with more or less spice
Then, of course, a wise man wants a taste.
For our purpose, presume the girl’s chaste;
If she makes the wrong call,
She’ll have given her all
To the wrong bloke, a shame and a waste!
Certain girls though, break out of the mould,
Not content to be bartered or sold.
The prospective young bride
Tries out men, to decide
Who’s to have her, to have and to hold!
Never the bride
She held hordes of admirers in thrall,
So damn many she couldn’t recall:
Since she couldn’t decide
To which one she’d be bride,
She said “Fuck it, I’ll just root ’em all!”