adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Socks, a poem

Socks

I won’t have sex in socks,
no matter how cold it may be;
I need my feet as naked
as the rest of me.
My toes might feel quite frigid,
yet they yearn to be free;
we shouldn’t have sex in socks,
I hope that you agree.

No, I won’t have sex in socks,
more blankets are the key;
pile them thick on the bed —
I think we need at least three.
Then, content in our cocoon,
snuggling cozily,
all my little piggies
will go ‘Whee! Whee! Whee!’

Stephen Brooke ©2014

just  nonsense

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