Lithe Lover’s Song
︎︎︎ Nik Hoffmann
︎ Feb 14, 2026
Hello fair lady, have you got the time,
To take a moment and hear a little rhyme?
Some ladies be proud and sigh at little jokes,
Some be too rash and tongue lash little blokes,
And some are quite upset by knowing smirks,
From boys who’ve seen the worst and how it works,
Oh, everyone can hide what makes them tick,
But some still see when lips are up to tricks,
The prettiest lips, I’m sure, perhaps not very wise,
You speak more truly when you spread your thighs.
It’s all in fun, of course, these naughty things,
To rudely rhyme when muses rightly sing,
Would you grant me a wide and wheeling license,
If my rhetoric grew greatly heightened?
For you and I might die a little death,
The kind of death they used to rhyme in jest,
The type of death that dances round the Maypole,
When two are one and one are soul in soul,
When two are twain till heart’s great halls be filled,
When sleep is sought soon after starlight’s spill,
When Cupid’s dart has surely pierced its mark,
When death and life have pranced in toothsome dark.
But today is day and not just yet the night,
When eyes still play pretend at seeking sights,
And only until the searching mind be numb,
Shall wondering lips fall contentedly dumb,
But till that time we tease sweet nothing’s mind,
With teasing nothings in teasing sweet rhymes.
To take a moment and hear a little rhyme?
Some ladies be proud and sigh at little jokes,
Some be too rash and tongue lash little blokes,
And some are quite upset by knowing smirks,
From boys who’ve seen the worst and how it works,
Oh, everyone can hide what makes them tick,
But some still see when lips are up to tricks,
The prettiest lips, I’m sure, perhaps not very wise,
You speak more truly when you spread your thighs.
It’s all in fun, of course, these naughty things,
To rudely rhyme when muses rightly sing,
Would you grant me a wide and wheeling license,
If my rhetoric grew greatly heightened?
For you and I might die a little death,
The kind of death they used to rhyme in jest,
The type of death that dances round the Maypole,
When two are one and one are soul in soul,
When two are twain till heart’s great halls be filled,
When sleep is sought soon after starlight’s spill,
When Cupid’s dart has surely pierced its mark,
When death and life have pranced in toothsome dark.
But today is day and not just yet the night,
When eyes still play pretend at seeking sights,
And only until the searching mind be numb,
Shall wondering lips fall contentedly dumb,
But till that time we tease sweet nothing’s mind,
With teasing nothings in teasing sweet rhymes.