We both knew that you were lying

in perfect bliss of truest love.

Love that bound us, love undying,

fitting like a velvet glove.

All you fibs are wildly porcine,

persistently you mendicate.

Reclining in a way so feline,

wishing now to procreate.

Skulking in our sty so private,

hatchway blocked against the world.

Building up a steamy climate,

ever more untruths unfurled.

Together in eternal falsehood,

Lionpig, we love as all would.