So lads I've had aplenty, fillies too,
Their flesh as dust beside your winding quill.
You needn't blush, caress or softly coo,
Your words are all I need to drink my fill.
Yet what sweet longing can herself endear
To that same heart from which her hunger bloomed?
Her lovely ache wreathing the very fear
That plants the black seed auguring love's doom.
So free me from these fetters wrought of ink.
Let all my waters gush your red earth green,
Our lovemaking like leaden anchors sink,
Our kisses leave the realms of the unseen.
And on my quaking thigh you'll find it written,
"Did I mention, by the way, that I'm quite smitten?"

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Scarlatan, in the year 968 AF.