Poetry: #54

I have known a thirst for far too many
Gorgeous goddesses with soft supple skin.
And now too many may know it for me,
But I question their motive veiled by a grin.

These poets of vanity bat their eyes,
And whisper how amazing it would look
With me nestled right in between their thighs.
Would they scream my name or that of my book?

Perhaps I am a symbol of status
Or just an ornament hung on an arm.
Poets loom like a hovering stratus,
Raining down puddles of insincere charm.

My bed will be saved for only the just,
Who I am kidding, these poets I lust!