She has a chalice—

Or is it a phallus?—

Perfectly pendant

And swinging sweet cherry-its.

She raves of rapture—

Or am I captured?—

With the swing of her hips

So deep does she dip.

She sucks on my kiss—

What have I but this?—

As her body divine

Assimilates mine.

I’m awed with her treasure—

But what measure is pleasure?—

I live to serve her

And serve her to Love.