Through my elongated lusty pen
I strike my inner fleshy force
thou art this ink luscious course.
Hold thee tightly, one just can?
I envy all those virile men
whose forefingers thrust thee through
"May I call you my Loulou"?
Thy sins are not seven, they are ten!
How do thou strengthen my desire?
Why my pen gets so long?
whose length depends on thy fire
and on that lusty vigorous song?
Thou art the queen of my empire
Thou art the words, within my tongue
---
Can a Poet, be contracted by his pen?
For this tool, please provide me other words.
Women: have you thought on those swords
which belong to the brawny men?
Possesses thee, one just can?
Permission from the king and your lords
shall I get, to tight thee with my cords
cause my sins have already got to ten!
In each finger, I offer thee a sin
In each sonnet, I strike my propeller
Thou art so pure, I'd be so keen
to become thy favourite story teller
woman, thou art the reason why I'm mean
thou art my best Poetry bookseller!
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