With my sincerest apologies to the estate of Edgar Allan Poe. I will not elaborate what thought process led me to write this.

Once upon a midnight thorny, while I pondered, weak but horny,

Over many a maiden's climax on my chamber's floor—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

Only this and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,

"Sir" said I "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore"

But the visitor, her heels tapping, came so boldly, nearly snapping,

Raven-haired and dressed, spreading legs before me on the floor

- Wet bliss there, and nothing more

Deep into that wetness peering, long I lay there, hard and leering

Pining, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was her whispered word, “Explore”

Staring, and her teeth slyly baring, spoke once more, “Explore!”—

Merely this and nothing more.

Forth towards her opening crawling, I reached her treasure so enthralling,

Soon began I lapping juice that's sweeter than I ever had before.

“Surely,” thought I, “surely that's some dream I'm having;

Let me see, though, what that dream is, and this mystery explore—

And exploring, I heard only moaning, till more words from her lips outpoured ;—

Quoth my Raven "More - please, more"

Now my Raven, sitting lonely on my placid face, spoke only

That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour

Nothing farther then she uttered—as if that was all that mattered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Never have I lay like this before

With your thighs around me, shaking to the core

But she only said “More - please more.”

And that Raven now beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Sitting on the cushioned seat, her bust like Pallas she outpoured;

Then, into her the sweetness sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this fabulous girl of yore—

What this prim, so gainly, sultry, gaunt, and fabulous girl of yore

Meant in moaning “More, please more.”

But my Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

With her pallid bust of Pallas right on me on my chamber's floor;

And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!