Clichés

I know what lack of love may do,
How angst and sadness will accrue
And joy and laughter die on cue
    And leave you torn apart –
When eyes are bolts thrown from the blue
Fond hopes are killed and you will rue
You met me – oh, I know it’s true;
   I won’t play with your heart.
Take off my dress to reach the dew
Between my thighs so you can brew
Hot passion while I fondle you –
   Please – hug me for a start!