High Tea

When he reached in his pocket; he found only a locket; It was a heart all shinning in gold Inside were inscriptions; of love type depictions; Of a love that would never grow old. In his heart was a thump; in his throat was a lump; And the water did flow from his eyes. It was over but yet; he could never forget; The silky soft feel of her thighs In the opposite pocket; he then found his rocket; That he grabbed and found thrilling to hold. Free of restrictions; he sped up the friction; And there in his pants dropped a load Slightly in shame; but thanking the rain He walked in the strangest of ways. For a spot had been set; by the place that was wet; And he was sure he’d be punished for days. So the point of the story; of old love and glory; It’s best you leave old love behind. Keep your hands to the sides; or on the wheel when you drive; But be careful of things that you find.