Original sins

There’s a  fortunate fellow called Binns,
Who made love to identical twins,
So alike to each other
That even their mother
Just scratches her head, shrugs and grins.

It began, as it often begins,
With champagne and a couple of gins:
Inhibitions were shed,
And they jumped into bed,
In a tangle of tits, teeth and shins.

They exhibited bumps, grinds and spins.
They had semen from fannies to chins!
It was jolly confusing,
But later amusing,
Confessing at church to such sins!

Funk

Despite all of her Mum’s and Dad’s yelling,
The strong funk of sex they were smelling,
The threats, talk of sin,
She just said with a grin,
“Do whatever you want. I’m not telling!”

A lost cause

It’s not fucking, she told herself mentally.
What though, if, just accidentally,
(Was it a sin?)
His cock somehow slipped in?
(As it would, in fact, do, incrementally!)