66 reads

Luckiest of Places

“I yearn to have the luck of the Irish,”

sighs the winsome Erin O’Malley

I want my own leprechaun in bed

before I lose the bloom of my youth

cream flows through her silk skin

green eyes framed by long black lashes

rounded bosom peaks from lace blouse

as she meanders through verdant forest

she finds a bed of green shamrocks

sensuously removes her green dress

over her head, then takes off her scanties

lies down on sweet clover – a tableau

for her leprechaun puck whom she prayed for

when into the wood rides her red headed man

on lusty white stallion spurred by his heels

like food or wine to gods for beauteous Erin

Seamus lies on grassy carpet with ripe lass

his lips meet hers as he parts with tongue

hands travel down to the luckiest of places

celtic passion seizes essence of golden couple

melds their bodies into the nation of Ireland

as they finally explode in ecstatic passion

both look up and see beamed rainbow in sky

“The luck of the Irish is with me,” she whispers

as she lies in the arms of her leprechaun Seamus.