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Introduction:

Got in a wistful mood
Defloration


O little virgin, timid as a dove,
Consent today to let me make of you
A fulfilled woman, proud and knowing love
In all its forms. I long to give you new
Feelings and thrills mere opiates can't match.
Let me caress your hidden secret parts
And turn them to a soft and lovely patch
That my hard spade can dig with loving arts.

And when I meet the gate that sits across
The burrow that I seek to stretch and fill.
Then I will rage and ram and butt until
I gather force to pluck the fleshly weed
And cause a fire to bloom among your moss
And plow your garden with my liquid seed.
3 comments

PiquetReport

2009-05-29 05:35:50
My mistake : Ars Amatoria.
- Piquet

PiquetReport

2009-05-28 05:04:51
Very horticultural in parts Otzchiim, but I liked it - and I'm glad you didn't rhyme 'match' with 'snatch'. Ovid's Ars Amaroria (The Art of Love) uses this type of imagery.

Precious1Report

2009-05-22 09:50:50
Very good

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