I want to attack your poon-box,
With gentle, delicate touches,
I’d like to dust off your labial folds,
With these soft and tenebrous brushes,
I’d consider laying beside you,
If your bed was ensconced in fine cheeses,
And you were sufficiently relaxed ’round me,
To let out your posterior breezes;
I’d trap them in a paper bag,
And huff them at my leisure,
Till then, you’ll sadly stay unfiddled,
And free from sexual pleasure.