With apologies to any who are easily offended, the metaphor is intended
for entertainment purposes alone. Do not try this at home unless in the
presence of a trained professional.


The Bardic Shishkabob

With delicate fingers, white and pretty,
My lady strokes her chin.
She peers upon the loaded skewer
And wonders where to begin?

A clever girl, she starts atop
And takes the juicy piece
Between her lips - so luscious,
So red, now glossed with grease.

Her pearly teeth, they sink right in.
Her smile broadly beams.
The marinade wets her tongue,
I watch as in a dream.

My lovely lady parts her lips,
A ripe tomato enters in.
A gentle lick, a playful bite,
The juice runs down her chin.

My heart's awash in brandy,
My spirit is flambe'd.
My soul is getting randy,
I don't know what to say.

She sways in a dance of ecstasy
To some harmonic tune.
She plucks another meaty piece,
The end is coming... soon.

My lady takes her final bite,
A pepper, flaming red.
With a wink, she swallows,
Twirls the skewer o'er her head.

A young Satyr I may be
But not naive, I daresay.
When she ate that Shishkabob
I became a man that day.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Aeguary, in the year 386 AF.