I Assure You, None Of These Are From Nantucket
A few ten-finger exercises:
There once was a hooker named Venus
Who found all her tricks rather heinous,
So she had a surprise
Attached 'tween her thighs
To protect her locus amoenus.
(For those who don't know what locus amoenus means, click here.)
There was a young woman from Panama
For whom coffee was anathema,
But when she did find
Her butt in a bind,
She still chose it instead of an enema.
There once was a painter named Patrick
Whose models disrobed on the quick;
He'd toss one a smile,
And seduce her a while,
So he could limn her lithe limbs in a rick.
Here he was, addressing the chasm,
Awaiting a quake or even a spasm;
His energy tapped,
His cunning now sapped,
She saw her aim finally past 'im.
(Oy. Fools do go where wise mean fear to tread. And, yes, I know I'm rewriting the metrics. Sue me.)
It started with talk, followed by liquor,
But just as a passion seemed nearly a-flicker,
She suddenly paused,
She told him her cost,
And he sighed, "Alas, I'm not going to dicker..."
Oh well. A little verbal tinkering.... Nothing more than that... *shrug*