Poet's Whore {w.BlackVelvetRose}

 
I've dallied with some mighty poets
As they struggled with a metaphor.
They love sex, like other men,
But they demand much more.

Robert Burns once said to me
'My love is like a red, red rose.'
I dance my sultry dance for him
And his blooming stalk just grows and grows!

I had a yen for William Wordsworth
Who wandered lonely as a cloud
I rode his root industriously
As it stood tall, and sleek, and proud!

Coleridge was a sailing man
His member was as large as China!
He set a course for Xanadu
And came by way of my vagina!

Lord Byron loved to lap my kitty
Till the breathe escaped my lungs.
He never said a single word,
He always spoke in tongues.

I fellated Percy Shelley, observing skylarks
for the ode he would create.
He screamed, 'Hail to thee, blithe spirit!'
As he spewed. I thought that appropriate.

With a flirt and a flitter Edgar A. Poe began to stutter
He perched his lips upon my shaven crest
His tongue found my Plutonian shore
As the Raven quoted, "Nevermore!"

T. S. Elliot was asexual with his wife
His carnal life was a vast 'Waste Land'
I saved him from that barren place
With the purring kitten at my command!

Sandburg liked the mornings best
When the fog crept in on little cat feet
He preferred the position of the dog
And never missed an iamb beat!

I'm retired now, with blissful dreams
My career has been a pleasure.
The golden quills of lusty poets
Whose length no whore could measure!

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