This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UC Berkeley chapter.
As thy hands caress my thighs
The lust I feel can’t be disguised
Although the forbidden fruit is tempting
I can’t be your eve eternally relenting
If time were to truly standstill, I still wouldn’t feel ill
My purity’s worth far more than your insistent will
Like a sturdy weed, my leave pickings aren’t easily plucked
Maybe elsewhere you may try your luck
As sunrise is settling yonder
Don’t foresee my fancy for you to flourish fonder
This opportunity may lie in its grave
But trust me, your yearning shall cease to make me cave