Her decanting stanzas
Tickled fancies long lambent
She wrote slammish in perfect iambic
Every glimpse she provided uprighted me, oniastic nights
I only ask nicely.
The relief of ice
Her thighs might provide
I imagined her wide smile
That Midas rifle, alive with orgiastic delight
Did we demand it, did we ask it
Do we have a hand at all at all
In anything that happens
Where she lotused showed a dampened patch
Everything I noticed next commanded that
I hardened like a freezing bath.
Alchemisland 
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