She had **********
Down to a fine art;
Knew the nuances
Of kissing, or so
Uncle said and he
Should have known
As he had what you
Would later say was
An encylopaediatic
Knowledge of women,
Sufficient to put old
Casanova to shame.
Never treat women
The same, Uncle said,
They’re like precious
Diamonds, each has
Their own shiny bits,
Their little neat crevices,
Their own fine beauty.
Auntie knew nothing
Of this; she had the
Beauty of a dogfish,
Uncle often whispered,
Holding back a laugh.
The dame in question
Sure had you hooked
On her beauty like a fine
Art. You would dream of
Her most nights, have
Imaginary love feasts,
A fantasy laying of the
Head between *******
Pretend holding of hands
Before dipping in the deep
Gulf of her thighs. Henry,
Uncle’d say, women are
The high point of God’s
Creation, His claim to fame,
His special one off artwork.
The dame invaded your
Dreams and flooded your
Senses and ****** your
Juices; she had each aspect
Of your being pegged to her
Every move and shake of
Head and wiggle of ***
Henry, Uncle’d say, women
Are the reason for being,
The whole point of getting
Up in the morning and going
To bed at night, they are the
Reason popes or priests don’t
Marry, they are the pinnacle
Of humanity, the reason why
Your auntie runs them down.
Yes, she had ********** down
To a fine art, right down to
Her red painted toenails, right
Up to her dark brown hair and
You’d have made love to her
In your dreams each night in
Front of auntie’s ice-cold stare.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
She had **********
Down to a fine art;
Knew the nuances
Of kissing, or so
Uncle said and he
Should have known
As he had what you
Would later say was
An encylopaediatic
Knowledge of women,
Sufficient to put old
Casanova to shame.
Never treat women
The same, Uncle said,
They’re like precious
Diamonds, each has
Their own shiny bits,
Their little neat crevices,
Their own fine beauty.
Auntie knew nothing
Of this; she had the
Beauty of a dogfish,
Uncle often whispered,
Holding back a laugh.
The dame in question
Sure had you hooked
On her beauty like a fine
Art. You would dream of
Her most nights, have
Imaginary love feasts,
A fantasy laying of the
Head between *******
Pretend holding of hands
Before dipping in the deep
Gulf of her thighs. Henry,
Uncle’d say, women are
The high point of God’s
Creation, His claim to fame,
His special one off artwork.
The dame invaded your
Dreams and flooded your
Senses and ****** your
Juices; she had each aspect
Of your being pegged to her
Every move and shake of
Head and wiggle of ***
Henry, Uncle’d say, women
Are the reason for being,
The whole point of getting
Up in the morning and going
To bed at night, they are the
Reason popes or priests don’t
Marry, they are the pinnacle
Of humanity, the reason why
Your auntie runs them down.
Yes, she had ********** down
To a fine art, right down to
Her red painted toenails, right
Up to her dark brown hair and
You’d have made love to her
In your dreams each night in
Front of auntie’s ice-cold stare.
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