An'
if I do reach eight-score in Years
as is my Will, God
will't e'en so,
on thy Breast I'll
shed no less the Tears
for Love, which
stay'th undiminish'd – know,
that if thou likewise
give no Way to Time,
Sporana's flow
unbroken through our very Limbs:
this very Lingam
shall that very Mouth sublime
and that graced Yoni,
still service with Light undimm'd.
Thy Birthday sacred
in my Heart's Rememb'ring,
with Vigor's own
Wisdom shall many more yet be;
e'er green, the Sap
in this Tree for Lovemaking
shall e'er firm and
whole indeed be spared for thee.
No
Time's Ravage, no Years laid waste, but rather:
increaseth ever new
this Love conscious, Tina-Benson . . .
to
timeless' bathe with you, and cover you in Lather
by Light of countless
Birthday-Candles, fulfill this Passion!
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