Sonnet I

I look on thee, and find thee very fair,
Thy form so pleasantly stretch’d on thy bed,
The sunlight through the window on thy hair,
With cuntly thatch as auburn as thy head.
So languidly thy hand doth beckon me,
To worship at the altar of thy quim,
As thou dost part thy lips that I might see,
That sanctum thou shalt never give to him.
My dress I leave bepoolèd on the floor,
Thy perfect breasts I worship with my lips,
Thy cunt my tongue now trembles to adore,
Thy pungent nectar welling to my sips.
     O sister, twin of mine, I love thee, dear,
     As tongues in quims bring ecstasy so near.

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