Apparently, what happens when you do seventeenth-century literature and just HAPPEN to write tentacle porn is, people start linking you to Robert Herrick (note his bitchin' pornstache). I wish to express my satisfaction with this state of affairs and encourage you to continue.

Text of Herrick's 'The Vine' below the jump!
I DREAM'D this mortal part of mine
Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs
I with my Tendrils did surprize;
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste
By my soft Nerv'lits were embrac'd:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem'd to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curles about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancie I awook;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a Stock then like a Vine.

10/24/2011 10:20

Wow, that's shocking risque for that time period. I love it :D

10/24/2011 12:27

Sweet lady, I have GOT to hook you up with more seventeenth-century poetry. It's basically porn, religious meditations, and porn couched as religious meditations.

09/07/2012 07:41

nice post

09/24/2012 17:07

THX for info


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