This vixen had such fun,
I knew not, what I’d done.
The loving that night was rigorous,
as we laughed at your ignorance.
A fortnight thereafter,
I had no reason for laughter.
My episodic weekend of euphoria,
now replaced by mourning nausea.
Treated to lunch, through sorrowful tears I begged,
your nature I’d never truly pegged.
My lecherous lips, forgiven, graced by your tongue,
as you said, “Our song isn’t yet unsung.”
You took the blame,
in hiding my shame.
My daughter, claimed as your own.
A promise; I’ll never again leave you alone.
