Beware the usurer my girl,
who lends to see your lips unfurl
and softly, slowly, validate
the body as his interest rate.
Avoid the flatterer my lass:
grinning, cocksure, bold as brass;
but brass won’t pay the surgeon’s bill,
and gold will buy a bitter pill.
Then love the laughing boy my child,
go dancing with him through the wild,
where ecstasy and perfumed sweat
will grant a gift, not claim a debt.
For kisses laid upon the womb
are sweeter than a lonely tomb.
Russell J Turner – October 2012