Lies (a petting pastiche)

She lies in clover, redeemed pet:
the dew is damp, but she is wet,
her thoughts play on without regret;

Together teasing in this bed:
so intimate, they might be wed
or fornicate keenly instead;

And, then her fingers slide in deep,
soaking up cunt juice, that will keep
her well engaged, though she'll not sleep;

And if, through this game, she'll devise,
this chance to take sweet exercise,
then, these are truths - they are not lies.