"Who made the rules?" he asked her. "We should make our own instead."

He said as eccentricity drew her into his bed.

"I take your point," she told him as they talked about their writing.

And took a break to ponder matters equally exciting.

She loved his intonation, his smooth rhythm, and his stress.

But not as much as feeling touches slip into her dress.

"Do we scan well? Our formatting? Will we get our wrists slapped?"

She asked him as she wriggled, giggled, tingled, smiled, and clapped.

He never pondered commas as his fingers headed south.

She thought not once of stanzas with her nipple in his mouth,

"We'll win no prizes," they agreed amid their sin of rhyme.

Conventions set aside and simply having a nice time.

"Will I get spanked by poem fiends?" she asked, as her heart raced,

He shook his head and giggled with a smile across his face.

"Poem fiends can wait their turn," he said before he cursed.

"If any bugger's doing that, it's me; I got here first."

His lips slipped down to giggles and a hot breeze on her thighs.

Her slippery excitement? Well, it wasn't a surprise.

He made her shout orgasms out, although she did not know him.

And thought it all a rather splendid, silly climax to a poem.