“I yearn to have the luck of the Irish,”
sighs the winsome Erin O’Malley
I want my own leprechaun in bed
before I lose the bloom of my youth
cream flows through her silk skin
green eyes framed by long black lashes
rounded bosom peaks from lace blouse
as she meanders through verdant forest
she finds a bed of green shamrocks
sensuously removes her green dress
over her head, then takes off her scanties
lies down on sweet clover – a tableau
for her leprechaun puck whom she prayed for
when into the wood rides her red headed man
on lusty white stallion spurred by his heels
like food or wine to gods for beauteous Erin
Seamus lies on grassy carpet with ripe lass
his lips meet hers as he parts with tongue
hands travel down to the luckiest of places
celtic passion seizes essence of golden couple
melds their bodies into the nation of Ireland
as they finally explode in ecstatic passion
both look up and see beamed rainbow in sky
“The luck of the Irish is with me,” she whispers
as she lies in the arms of her leprechaun Seamus.
#luck'o'Irish #erotic #leprechaun