Predestined by testosterone,
He will lust upon being shown
A pistillate perfection's throne;
His acts commend the bull half-grown,
Unthinking she would not condone
An itch the swain knows to postpone.
Libido's concupiscent sight
Infuses his mind with pure delight,
Enkindles passion's flames alight!
Desire must incandesce, despite
Its char displace spent love in flight,
When dawn has wrung of life, the night.
--Don Juan de Feu
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