Spinal Tap

So many spines ache for your warm caress

That of a slim, yellow novel has won

For the nonce, but I suspect your largesse

Is greater still; shall we two have some fun?

Imagine my novel, along with me:

Is it a piquant, bodice-ripping yarn?

A tale of pristine, noble chivalry?

A plunge into a remote, icy tarn?

For you, I will conjure a thousand worlds

And people them with princes or paupers;

A galaxy of worlds woven from words

Will teem for you with heroes and monsters

So long as you will read what I have writ

I will pour out my blood to complete it