Jane the snogging machine

They talk of love, they talk of fate, But Jane just snogs—you can’t relate. One kiss from her, your knees go slack, You’ll need a chiropractor for your back. She doesn’t flirt, she hunts with grace, Then lands a snog right on your face. A wink, a smirk, then boom—you’re done, She’s kissed you senseless. She’s won. You’re none. She’s snogged in taxis, snogged in bars, Snogged under moonlight, under stars. Rumor has it (hold your hat): She once snogged someone into a panic attack. Even Santa couldn’t take the heat— One peck from Jane, he had to retreat. Now every time he hears her name, His cheeks go red. His sleigh swerves. Shame. And Malvern? Oh, Malvern needs its queen— A place for legends, lip routines. The hills await her epic snogs, (And maybe some poor clueless dogs). So Jane, you goddess of the tongue, With kiss counts higher than most lungs— Come snog this town, come stake your claim, And leave us breathless, moaning… “Jaaaane!”