Straits of Ibiza

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Za's Stair

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She brightened with a flower or two
And said, Let's spend the day
But the straits of Ibiza won't wait
For some hardened fool made out of clay

With culture pure and seeds between her fingers
She bowed so low she could see between his breeches
Like water warm embracing his dry hull

The sea was wide but then so were her kisses
They pierced inside the place his hardness misses
And from a cinder block there bloomed a rose

Fought and done the goal that was Ibiza
A mistress dire and not without a visa
To charm another jack-tar with her flow

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