I can’t deny
That incubi
Get very little respect.
Not that I,
As an Incubi
Terribly deeply object.
If there’s one thing
That just might bring
A rash of jealousy…
On foot or wing
I just might bring
Too much ecstasy.
Women often might resent
Anyone with a lover, even Hell-bent
Who brings multiple delighting.
Men often might resent
A man who’s very rarely spent
An expert on loving and fighting.
It’s true, for her
That Lucifer
Has claim on all who bed me.
But please infer
That Lucifeler
Might someday choose to wed me.
Therefore my path
Avoids his wrath;
No, I’m afraid of Eve.
For (do the math)
A woman’s wrath
Is horrifying to conceive.
I deal in pleasure. Really vastly.
Satisfaction comes both first and lastly.
In that sense, my demonly antics
Are exactly the opposite of politics.
And now I’ve rambled. I must run.
There’s someone out there lacking fun.
I can tell; my ears are roasting.
To climax, then! Let us quick-march
I’m crisp as an apple, hard as starch.
Don’t ring my phone; I’m off to be hosting.
________________
I think you should read A Goblincore Guide To Life, which is also free.
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