The Seeds of Love
When you’re with her, it’s a rare privilege,
For she’s usually on her deadly prowl,
For young flesh on which to plow
And sew her seeds of seduction, growing now while you are dying,
Sleeping in a bed all alone,
The whole night through.
While you’re there, she’ll be reaping, touching, holding, and receiving
The crop of which she slowly grew,
Now to be cut down so she can start anew.
With some fresh new blood to taint her lips
And soft new flesh for her to kiss.
All alone you sit and wonder,
What awful spell you could be under,
To stay with her, who forgets your love
And moves on to her next plunder.
She’s got you under her thumb,
You can’t get out, you’ve been overcome
For she sew that seed in you as well,
Torturing you like the pits of Hell.
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