The Old Maid Ms Tribade

She never rubbed me the wrong way
Never the way we were wont to lay
It was good to pretend and let her play
On my back, she, the thrust above

A grunting bird, breathy coos to a secret love
Not there between my splayed male legs,
But the Sunday mornings, Thursday nights
When she commits her practiced sexicide

Crossing by gene or will to the other side
Where her love’s expression may freely abide
Side by side, happy ever after the maid, Ms Tribade.
She never rubbed me the wrong way

The days and nights we were wont to play as we lay
But that was then and then is certainly not now
Where I find myself ready old maid Tribade free
Exactly where I had needed to be;

Just took awhile longer for me to see
She never rubbed me the wrong way
Never the way we were wont to lay
It was good to pretend and let her play.