My gift, it comes not in a box
but still it’s packaged, neat and tight.
It’s coated with a sheen of sweat,
gleams with desire in soft light.

My gift, it’s opened all the way
so you don’t need to ask and guess.
Touch it however it does please,
it’s yearning for you to assess.

My gift, it comes with strings attached
to hold it steadfast in its place,
but hopes you’ll send it all too soon
onto a naughty, breathless race.

My gift, it comes with just one flower,
with opened petals, moist with dew,
ready for you to devour,
inside and outside, through and through.

My gift, it doesn’t need soft touch -
treat it as harsh as you desire.
Squeeze it, bend it, don’t hold back -
make it explode, set it on fire.

My gift, it doesn’t mind to feel
the burn of wax and bite of whips.
Can you hear the sweet devotion
floating from its trembling lips?

My gift, it’s waiting on your bed,
vulnerable, full of trust,
arms extended, legs wide spread,
and whispering your name in lust.

My gift, it yearns to hear, You’re mine,
now and each single coming day.
Please, let me be your Valentine
in every naughty, wicked way.