Alice is a reluctant muse,
She'd rather be my lover.
She does her best in dirty talk;
I roll away under the covers.

She has confided carnal desires
And even dressed up as a nurse,
But I'm as soft and limp as a gimp
Unless she does it in verse.

An oral master of the metre
(Pentametre a cinch)
Should she speak any prose at length
I fail to raise an inch.

Unless I strive within her form
There is no go in me,
Be it love, romance or lust;
So much for poetry.