Who are you, o wicked enchantress of my soul?
Is it you who makes the lightning flash and the thunder roll?
Are you a goddess sent from heaven to earth,
To torture my mind for your own personal mirth?
Who are you, o Aphrodite* who drives men mad?
A daemon from Hell, a womans who is BAD?
You sexy slinky siren so desirably svelte,
Your ravishing opulent beauty alone makes me melt.
I do not know quite what I feel for you,
More than a crush, yet a hunger so true,
A burning insatiable frenzy of desire,
A yearning, a wanting, an unquenchable fire.
And I want you for more than just wicked delight,
I want to know who you are, what fuels your night.
What fills you with dread, what makes you shiver?
What makes you smile, what makes you quiver?
This sort of verse is poetry to be written
To all womenfolk by a bloke who is smitten
By her charms, her looks, the smile on her face
The smooth silky touch of her sensuous embrace.
But here is a warning, fair but true,
Do not pen such to feminists, or the day you will rue
For casting your desire before such swine
Will doom you for eternity, yoked to Clementine.
*Insert name of your desired woman.
