Some men might watch you flirt and say, "Too much!"
And so, to them, you are--that much is clear.
But I, a connoisseur of scent and touch?
Too much is not enough for me, my dear.
You're wild as Queen Diana in her wood,
whom Actaeon watched bathing silently.
He bought her naked glory with is blood.
Ah, such a price is far too cheap for me.
I've plucked the flowers of virgins by the score
and sniffed the sacred odalisque's delights;
my memories are flavored with their dew.
My hair is gray, but we have countless nights
before Sweet Lady Death, that final Whore,
drinks my last spunk. Till then, Love--it's for you.
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