I am The Rogue, the wretch in vogue
By any measure of my mind,
And in the end, when all is penned,
You'll want my auto-bio signed.

You may despise the way your thighs
Still open when your button's pressed,
But all my puns of breasts and buns
Are pardoned when I get undressed.

There's not a flaw, and you're in awe
(I know because of how you stare),
And though you hate to take my bait,
You'll doff your bra and underwear.

That's when I know that we're a go,
And I snake in to stake my claim,
A serpent tongue set loose among
The place that makes you moan my name.

It's moist and hot, your honey pot,
As humid as an August day,
And as my mouth goes north and south,
I think I hear you start to pray.

"Oh, God!" you scream, before a stream
Of expletives disrupt the night,
And from your lungs, you speak in tongues
A language of obscene delight.

It sounds absurd, but every word
Is like a combination lock,
And I've discerned (because I've learned)
How best to battle writer's block.

To keep you wet, the alphabet
Will help you get from A to Z.
I'll flick and curl, and dart and swirl,
And with two fingers, find your G.

With my technique, you shake and shriek,
A subject filling in the blanks,
So I can write the book tonight,
And for your help you have my thanks.

It's not complex, this oral sex,
But bashful brothers need a guide,
So just enjoy as I employ
The tool that makes you open wide.

You may feel shamed, a bit defamed,
But please reserve your judgment till
You read of how you helped allow
This linguist to perfect his skill.