The stories I could tell and having told
of trials which would led thee upon a well worn path
within the skin and to the core the soul
through torrid memories of the long lost past.
I'd speak of Joseph whose passions prompted bliss
of kisses deep within this form of Eve
of baths with gentle hands, where my soul heaved
as fingers traced each mounds earthy contrast.
And so that, days pleasures not bow to nights repasts
I'd share with you a tale of sun baths in rye fields
laying au naturel in hip high grass, as caution yields
to tender taunting's upon an oh so, rigid mast.
Truly, I'd say for bold I am, and never cold,
the naked truth should never be, left undersold.