The evening star and a rosewood fire
Shine in your, my lady's, eyes,
Your hair's a river of desire
Aflame beneath fall's sunset skies,
Your lashes flutter like a dove,
Your lips pout at me from a dream,
And, best of all, I know you love
To beg for more, and moan and scream.
You work as hard as diamond bits
To further your career. I love
Your anger at the inequities
Of strong on weak, your caring of
The hurt, and love to stand above
You--pink and eager, on your knees.
I love your aching, swollen tits.
I love your deep and thoughtful mind.
I love the way my hard cock fits
Inside your burning, tight behind
When you're tied up, and I say
You're naughty, knowing "no" means "yes,"
Just as sure as you're a la-
dy when your hands are up your dress.
Can't Madonna be a whore?
I want your body, heart and soul.
I'd love to teach you what you're for.
You play your parts. I love you whole.
I want to take you, roughly, sweetly,
Hard, to pieces and completely.
October 20, 1992