Enhancement

The following uses all thirty of the words posted for August, September and July. The required words are bold and appear in the order they were shown on the contest page. I was just bored, and the word lists seemed to tell a tale, though it went places I never imagined when I started it. I hope you enjoy reading it.

310 words, 30 lines.

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Such sadness lies in this dearth of wood,

My aged knight is lax and has not stood.



Reposed he is, 'pon a wizened sack of pendulous grapes,

My trouser snake, from undulating flaccidity ne’er escapes.



Not even sordid images and prose of carnal appeal,

Can beset this cursed flaccidity with rousing zeal.



Am I to relegate my rampant, amorous desires,

To maudlin memories of ancient flings and fires?



Nay! Requite is my lust's demand, upon a stiff sword it depends,

So with pensive skepticism, I swallow something called ExtenZe ®.



Lest my wife forestall my desire to bemoan some past misadventure,

A long and thoroughly sensuous kiss I place upon her salty aperture.



Before she can think to demur my ardent, lust fueled pursuits,

I digress from oral perusal in the south to seek north's rounder fruits.



Her insipid apathy thaws beneath my roaming tongue,

As I ostensibly seek to ensure her bells are rang and rung.



Into the penultimate act I lovingly pull my mate,

Tis in the bailiwick of both seventy and sixty-eight.



At last I tuck my fireman into his raincoat lest, in my mate's fecund state,

She bear me a pack children and my peace thoroughly discombobulate.



Dank with sweat I stroke fast and then slow, changing the rhythm,

Urgent to passive. Forgive my tautology, it comes and goes at a whim.



Lust is my paradigm, a base and nasty fault to some,

Though I wish to decry that judgment as simply dumb.



I plant secret, furtive kisses and upon her exotic bits I lovingly dote,

While my little pope does lovingly harangue her little man in the boat.



Life’s rigmarole is forgotten in ecstasy’s rapturous release,

And self-doubt's old bellicose arguments quiet and cease.



Let not supercilious skeptics forestall you from nature’s best thrill,

Never abdicate your wanton desires, just pop that sweet little pill.