Derriere With Flair
The perfect woman may compete,
With Bette Davis eyes,
Shirley Temple’s dimples,
And Tina Turner’s thighs.
What qualities come in handy?
On whose palate do the taste buds rest?
Perky little tomatoes?
Or cantaloupes like Mae West?
Nina Simone has her truth.
Aretha Franklin has her soul.
Billie Holiday had her blues,
Is physical attraction the only goal?
Some have beguiling ways
With luscious lips and hips,
And cracking whips,
That launch and sink a thousand ships.
Venus de Milo i.e. Aphrodite,
Certainly had her charms.
Her front and back are all intact,
Although she has no arms.
Some have most parts,
Some seem to have it all,
Like eternally young Marilyn Monroe,
Sophia Loren and Lauren Bacall.
But she doesn’t have Betty Grable legs.
She doesn’t have Mona Lisa’s smile.
But she has a superior posterior,
That drives me Oscar wild.
Some have other goals.
They hear another call.
I can’t resist, I must insist,
To get to the bottom of it all.
It shakes, it rocks, and it rolls,
And gives notions with its motions.
The movement is rhythmically soothing,
And affects the tides upon the oceans.
Her glutes are like two Christmas hams,
Underneath the mistle-toe.
I could watch her behind all day long,
Her butt should have its own TV show.
Her tookus could win a blue ribbon,
At any county fair.
I love the swing on her back-porch.
She has a derriere with flair.
More? Butt, butt...
It’s a rhythmically soothing,
Swish and sway.
I’d subscribe to her channel,
With reruns twenty-four hours a day.
The perfect strut and butt,
Deserving of the second look,
I might tweet it on twitter,
Or face it on facebook.
If it’s still unclear about her rear,
Allow me to remind,
I’d like a pillow made,
With her behind in mind,
It has a life of its own,
The perfection is uncanny!
It’s ideal to clone!
I found the perfect fanny.
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