There, upon the Rocks near the Churchyard, stood she
Her hair, silver in the light of the waxing moon
Her form, that of the nubile goddesses of the ancient
Her smile, sardonic, yet compelling
Her eyes, dancing in the night, fallen upon me
Her tits, yes, her golden bonzoes, made me drool like a starving infant.

Yea, I wanted her.

Excerpt from "Women Who Spit" by Harry Lee Wigley