Cosying Up

I like a cosy atmosphere at brunch
And love the way you cosy up to me;
It’s after breakfast and before our lunch;
But you absolve your appetites, I see
Or, rather I don’t see, for you are lost
Beneath the table cloth, and in a world
Where cock is king and cock will not be crossed
Once it has been unveiled; when not furled
Within my boxer shorts, your mouth will serve
As a warm place to keep it – let us eat:
I will digest a croissant with preserve,
And you can entertain the tasty treat
That will emerge in time, if you can steer
Your sir to spurt – ah! cosy atmosphere.