May this one cause you to crack a half-smile, or less…
Guy picked a beastly DVD to highlight erotic ambiance.
Gal arrived perfumed and in pantyhose.
He displayed a full-blooming, yellow primrose
next to a chardonnay bouquet,
to enrich amorous effects
and retire in erogenous repose
(so he supposed)
but failed to discern
in movies with monsters, there’s never
ever a scene with consummated sex,
only hints of what will happen next:
the damsel will tremble, the stud flex
and as their kissing scene reaches apex—
all at once the fanged beast shows
with raptor toes and eyes that glows.
Guy and Gal knows, as hero and heroine
leave the creature’s bloody corpse,
rapturous frenzy will follow their last-scene kiss…
Guy nimbly gropes to unveil Gal’s clothes
and launch an evening of lubricous bliss,
but her mood is as romantic as if
she saw photos of herpes simplex.
(His fantasy of her in passionate throes
is not mitigated by his single pink rose.)
At his touch she froze, grabs her keys
with a hiss and slams his front door.
Guy wallows into a drunken abyss
and concludes erotica is not accentuated
with chase scenes by a Tyrannosaurus Rex.