Balancing

The sun, a blazing circle of celestial fire
Hangs low upon the horizon,
Its fiery glory reflecting orangely
On the wind-whipped, blue-green sea.

The late afternoon sees my love and I,
Arms and legs entwined, bollock naked on the beach,
Rapt in appreciation of that blest moment
When sun and sea join in mystic communion.

And yet, all is not golden:
When one mentions the word "legs"
Once is certainly grammatically correct, yet
One does not convey the true situation to the reader.

You see, my lover is the sad possessor
Of a fifty percent deficit in the podial department,
Whilst I have a full double complement.
And thus to so-called act of generation
(Most times mis-named, for which I thank the gods)
Is a feat* requiring great dexterous equilibrium.

However, my love's club foot (speaking candidly,
An admitted visual defect most times)
Now comes to the rescue of Eros' urgent needs,
With the aid of a little mutual ingenuity.

Balancing carefully on my dear one's abbreviated podex,
Supported carefully by the discarded surgical boot,
A passable shag can usually be achieved.
Only the halitosis appears irremediable.

[* = a pun.]