Mark R Slaughter
Bottom Man - Poem by Mark R Slaughter
A juicy peach, a pair of thighs,
Packed inside her tautened jeans:
A crafted view to whet the roving eye.
He chases down the wiggle, though she
Knows it in her giggle, so she
Gives a sense of unawares a try.
He must his hand arrest – or might he
Plausibly molest or slap
The symmetry that is her perky bulge?
But is she flaunting in a quest
To show her bum's the very best?
His dream's alive! but that he won't divulge!
Comments about Bottom Man by Mark R Slaughter
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You