Wrong Lover Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Yes, I would. Slowly imperceptibly
ooze up your legs, tasting your skin,
every pore would be reason to pause.
And pause I would. Exploring the depth of
the stratum germinativum, wow that did,
I would hope, impress you, it's Latin,
higher and higher I would travel,
thinking of that sob local boy who,
in some shameful and ridiculous way
has managed to catch your eye.

I can do better. I have money.
I have style, and class and books.
There is no hope for those poor wretches,
they may have muscles now,
but nothing that would last.

So let me climb that ladder of my lust.
Once we get married it will come to you as well.
So, do not fall for what is seen as 'down-to-earth',
it's only the aristocracts who you ought to love.