French, The Language Of Love

French, the Language of Love. Darling, speak French to me when we make love, wicked words I don’t understand, but have a whispering meaning of delight. I stand before you with salutial erection, a soldier of love ready to sacrifice myself for your subterranean pleasure. Your wishes have to be expressed in French or the steed’s chase will not react with proper force, It will think it’s time to go back into the stable, hanging about, wondering what went wrong. At the subway in Paris I was in the way of a woman who wanted to exit, she swore at me, thinking it were words of love, I kissed her and was arrested. But released, though when they understood I was a foreigner, lost in the baffling ways of the French idiom.