Her confession of love misconstrued,
From her words he was led to conclude
That she wouldn’t say no,
Which she didn’t, although,
If she had, she might still have been screwed!
Tag: love
Practice versus theory
The best whore ain’t got no heart of gold;
She’s a woman can be bought and sold,
No damn love-talk and shit,
Just get off her damn kit,
And do what a man wants when she’s told.
Begging the question
All the flowers, the sweet little rhyme,
Was his courtship charade, mere mime?
Did he truly intend
They be wed in the end,
Or was fucking him wasting her time?
Pass the ketchup
Sex is sex, nothing very profound,
And assuming the low moral ground,
Love or not, it’s what’s real,
Like sharing a meal;
With luck, there’s enough to go round!
Body and soul
Making love, she gave body and, soul,
Head and heart, her all, gave herself whole,
Until slowly she learned,
When it isn’t returned,
Love or making love, both take a toll.
Protestations of love
Well, of course, in the course of events,
She got screwed. It was pretty intense!
All his talk about love;
Well, fuck! Heavens above!
It was hard to take too much offence.
First things first
Love and sex go together, ideally;
Know the girl’s name, at least, clearly.
Sometimes though, like,
It’s like riding a bike,
Just a fuck, and who gives a fuck, really?
The crux
He caressed her warm breasts; her pulse quickened.
Heart yearning, gut churning, quite sickened!
“I love you!” she sighed,
(His two fingers inside).
Like his cock, to her shock, the plot thickened!
The fine print
Call me cynical, dull doubting Thomas,
But never believe a girl’s promise
Of faithfulness, love;
Sex and stealth, hand in glove!
While they fuck us they keep themselves from us!
The other woman
Married, kids and a mortgage, I’m guessing,
She thought to herself, while undressing.
He loves me, of course,
But enough to divorce?
Being beautiful’s such a mixed blessing!