Not the Pearl

Though love, at first, intoxicates a girl,
She may, eventually, come to find
That love is just the oyster not the pearl:
A jewel that seemed to shine as they combined
For the first time; when pressed up to his heart,
She knew she’d never leave him, though her hair
Was so disordered – she would never part
Her locks without a reminiscence; where
He gripped her in his arms, as he secured
His entrance deep inside the vacant womb
That filled, as his fat hardness was immured
Within her cunt, as if it were a tomb
To all her dreaming, once she had voiced: “Sir,
My love is not the pearl – just the oyster.”