Sprung!

The day was as equal to the night  
As her fine figure was to the task  
Of housing Cupid's dart so extra tight  
It would blow its cork like a boiled flask  
Which all afternoon had simmered a lot  
In percolation of a vernal load    
All designated for her honey pot    
If upon her tonsils it shan't explode!
  
And all she did was to give me a look  
To put into place the kind of a trance    
Wherein my intent was soon overtook    
By a hectic hard on straining my pants,  
Which she knows full well is just the thing    
To place on tap for perpetual spring!