girls, girls, girls.

Honey, check it out, you got me mesmerized

With your black hair and your fat-ass thighs

Let me tell you about a girl I met at the bar,
I was strolling for drinks–didn’t get too far.
Before I could think, she had me trapped.
Her tractor beam on, I’m already en route.

Hi, I squeeked.
She didn’t mind.
She likes my coyness? Or probably her wine.

Let me clarify, this story ain’t about me,
instead about what makes my hormones say oui-oui.
The convo was so-so, not the best of the night,
but her heavenly body could turn tap-water into Sprite.

A lovely goddess from the divine,
her curves moved in and out like the waves of sine.
So tempting even a saint would sin.
What I would do for the lamp of Aladdin.

Her lips blood orange with a vamp’s smile,
yet unassuming with simple style.
Sitting cross-legged in a brown pencil skirt,
a slice of cleavage hiding behind her v-neck shirt.

Stretch out your legs, let me make you bawl

Drive you insane, drive you up the wall

If you’re a prude, these deets will make you shirk–
in plain English: not safe for work.
Her legs were glossy, an endless bronze vine.
Be brave, channel Jack, and mount the climb.
To the land of Octupussy that only Bond knows,
approach the light as it glows.
Trapped in the bushy heat, swing a machete.
Hair abounds all around, slay the Yeti.

She’s laughing, she likes the quips,
travel North and nibble on chocolate chips.
Last destination is her mouth,
from whence all gasps cometh about.
Her tongue long and lashing, she plays dirty.
Woman has experience, she’s in her late thirties.

Last thing I remember is the high cheek bones,
nestling between thighs would make eunuchs moan.

This warrior princess has carnal finesse,
Look into her eyes–instant Monica’s blue dress.