Genus Ovis, A Love Poem

Genus Ovis, A Love Poem


The agricultural dwelling in which I reside
Has naught but drosophila buzzing inside.
So sojourn to the rouge quonset where you doth hide
Your lanolin infused covering makes my loins swell with pride.

Thy pulchritudinous bleating , I must confide
Makes my inner core temperature rise like the tide.
The lunar effulgence in your visage two-eyed,
Makes me want to partake of a prurient ride.

Your prehensile lips masticate the grain inside
My perspiring palm as I stroke your backside.
Your bestial pheromones cannot be denied.
Oh! Genus Ovis, will you be my bride?


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