Would you be –
If only for a while –
The tolling bell,
That wakes me for my dream?
I’ll make my own coffee,
But would you be my only cream?
I’ll serve you every breakfast,
And take it to your bed,
With a white rose for six days,
The seventh a viridifolia green,
But chocolate girl, can I in return
Have you for lunch and dinner,
And the snacks in between?
You can lead in every way,
But in bed I’m in command,
Pleads for mercy are ignored,
And truce granted on demand,
If you let me be your Satan,
I will let you be my god.
And chocolate girl, listen to this:
There’s a legend Arabians say,
That lovers, husbands and poets,
Are last to be judged on Doomsday,
Bedrooms will be the witness,
And beds are called to testify,
The scandals told will shake the earth,
And the horrors will rock the sky,
Poets last and put it this way:
Love is the con of a dream,
It’s a ram and gate story,
Not a knock and welcome theme,
It is heaven to do the ramming,
But for the gate, a nightmare,
The last ram a cry of glory,
For the girl the last scream.
Once no more there is to tell,
All the girls will go to heaven,
And all the boys will go to hell.
But chocolate girl!
Guess what happened after that?
All the girls called for a meeting,
And they went on a hunger strike,
When at last they met Gabriel,
They asked to have their men back,
“It is not their fault,” their leader said,
“They’re full of crap but not so bad,
We were created armed to the teeth,
To seduce, snare and drive them hard,
We’ll vouch for their good conduct,
But if they want a naughty snack,
They’ll have to do it in the dark,
And we, as well, will do our best,
Not to scream at every twist.”