Que Sera

Dear sir, I've gifted you many a chance
To lie against my breasts and, there, to read
Me poetry; but your fingers advance
Inexorably, for you want to feed
Your appetites; and, so, you kiss my brow;
And see I will not tell, for there are none
Who understand enough to venture now;
Or intervene to stop the twining fun
Your hand has in my hair; I find my role
Is to lie back and to accept your steer,
And to delight your masculinity;
You can capture my tongue, because you stole
My worries, my reluctance and my fear;
And now I'm clear that what you want must be.