Beyond the doe-eyed fauna that with the princess dance
There lies a land of fragile make that pivots on Romance.
The turn of season, the gust of wind, the rise and fall of sun–
None of this would happen, were not the prince to come.
A talking teapot told me once a tale as old as time,
Backed up by clocks and candlesticks that sang along in rhyme.
I was urged to kiss the girl by a Caribbean crustacean–
I hesitate to call him ‘crab’ for that other connotation.
Some will claim philandering shall be the death of men,
The rest attest that lack of love is what will do us in.
I find myself most sympathetic to the second clique,
And sympathetic to myself I find each Disney flick.
This all explains my text last night, about my recent fling:
When I smeared my cum across her brow, and quoted The Lion King.