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!