My loyal, lovable Lancelot lets me lounge lazily in lacy lingerie. Lovingly, he lays lilies, lavender, lilac and lotus over lush laurel leaves like luxurious lagoon landscapes. I get lost looking in his eyes like lunar lakes of lapis lazuli. I love listening as my lyrical, linguist of letters leads a litany of literal language and luscious, lustful laughs. Leisurely lapping liqueur, we lie laterally, as he lavishes me liberally with lotion, little by little, lurking the labyrinth of legs lumbar, lips, lobes. He limberly lifts my loins for leverage, lower, lower, layer by layer, licking lobes, lips, lashes, labia... His lovemaking lures my longing to the limit, lubricating my libido and liberating my lust. Looking, I luckily locate a long, large lump looming in his lap, levitating, and lo!, leaking luscious liquid. Lasciviously leering, he lithely lunges, logistically leaps, lassos the loot, links, locks loins and launches into lively locomotion. In lieu of learning lonely lessons from limited loitering in limbo, I likewise loosen, letting in the last length of his lifesize lava lamp, at last leading him to the ledge of the landslide where lions become lambs. Louder and louder like a late luau, logic is lethally leveled, leaving little left. At last, we lapse into a limp, loony lull. Lookout, love, that was legendary!