High Tea
When he reached in his pocket; he found only a locket;
It was a heart all shinning in gold
Inside were inscriptions; of love type depictions;
Of a love that would never grow old.
In his heart was a thump; in his throat was a lump;
And the water did flow from his eyes.
It was over but yet; he could never forget;
The silky soft feel of her thighs
In the opposite pocket; he then found his rocket;
That he grabbed and found thrilling to hold.
Free of restrictions; he sped up the friction;
And there in his pants dropped a load
Slightly in shame; but thanking the rain
He walked in the strangest of ways.
For a spot had been set; by the place that was wet;
And he was sure he’d be punished for days.
So the point of the story; of old love and glory;
It’s best you leave old love behind.
Keep your hands to the sides; or on the wheel when you drive;
But be careful of things that you find.
|