I’ll never learn, heavens above,

Done it again, fallen in love.

Couple, throuple; they’re so last year,

We’re polycules, a square my dear.

Jess really was a bit of a whore,

Everyone called her pussy galore.

A while since she’d worn knickers,

Easy access for her harem of lickers.

She’s a changed woman now, you see,

All because of Em, Laura and me.

Committed to the loving fab four,

Let out Tuesdays to make others roar.

Laura, well she’s a total spit-slut,

Into all kinds of deviant smut.

A priestess in the Temple of Tentacle,

She leads many a skanky spectacle.

Loving Laura, we give feelers some love.

That’s returned, fits us hand in a glove.

Four tentacles slurping on our clits,

And four wiggling, stretching our slits.

Then there’s Emma, we call her Em,

Ever so willing, such a cute little gem.

We use her in all sorts of play,

Making us cum kick starts her day.

Yes Miss, two words that are always said,

Except when it comes to breakfast in bed.

Crumbs on the sheets a bit of a crime?

Never mind the spit, cum and tentacle slime.

My name’s Chloe; all tits and glory,

My parents, my inspirational love story.

Their perfect love created perfect me,

Cue eye rolls from the other three.

It’s not always easy being a four,

Like when we went to the bed store.

Four women bouncing testing the springs,

Shown the door, just for looking at kings.

One thing we didn’t get for love nor money,

Even when Jess proffered a taste of her honey,

Was a table for four on Valentine’s Day.

Damn. We so like putting our love on display.

So my girlfriends met my dear old dad.

Three! He looked at me as if I was mad.

Four place settings he called to mum,

And you’ll be needing a little more rum.

Of course, love is love, my mum said,

But, Chloe, isn’t diversity just two in a bed?

Sorry, Emma replied, I love all three!

Loves not limited, we need to be free.

For us love is acceptance, not making a fuss,

Like Em’s Valentine treat is peeing on us.

Dad didn’t notice the conversation getting bolder,

Given the tentacles crawling up a shoulder.

In mum and dad’s heart love never sours,

Feelings are deeper than chocolates or flowers,

Understand these gifts don’t make love grow,

But, just so you know, mum will never say no.

Love whoever, dad said with a silly grin,

I agree more love can never be a sin.

For Jess twee words put her on the spot,

Too lovey-dovey was her sign of a twat.

Though she’s distracted by more spuds,

Do potatoes trump cunny on her taste buds?

There is wisdom in what you say, dad.

Jess saying the D-word; this isn’t going bad.

Mum added, Chloe we’re happy for you,

You and your three sweet lovers, too.

Would grandchildren be out of the question?

There were knowing looks at that suggestion.

We four held hands and kissed with love,

Offering thanks to Eros and Cupid above.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house,

The tentacle applause sounded like Strauss.

No doubt all you coupledom bores,

Think we’re just behaving like whores.

No. We live eight words that ring true.

I love you. And you. And you too.