To His Koi Mistress

Had we but pond enough and slime
Your virtue, dear, would be no crime,
And I would never fret, and harp
On being but a lowly carp,
While you, a high-born, golden koi
Are buoyed above my hoi polloi.
We'd blithely skim across the mud
As our kind did before the Flood.
My patience, then, would not abate
Enough to pressure you to mate.
A thousand summers would have gone
Ere first I made a move to spawn.
A thousand springs, indeed, would go
Before I tried to seed your roe.

But at my dorsal end I hear
Time's trolling motor humming near,
And soon, before us hang the threats
Of countless hooks and boundless nets.
Then baiting worms would be empowered
To snare and have your body floured.
Ponder how you would regret it,
While your maiden beauty's breaded—
Knowing we had not enjoyed us
Pleasured nights and days of koitus.

Darling, while your golden form
Has caused my cauldron zeal to warm,
Secrete thine eggs into the mire,
Igniting my erotic fire.
And I, excited, will in turn
Add clouds of my aquatic sperm.
Then we'll, within our wat'ry chasm,
Shudder in climactic spasm.
Thus, ...if Fate would be a harpy,
Now's our time, dear. Seize your Carpie.

© Washington Snow