I can't get the car FOB as we leave the range
won't come out of my pocket, ever so strange
'Let me try' and with that you have a go
Sliding your hand down my pocket ever so slow
We've never stood this close before
Body heat, smell of hair I can't ignore
But Oh my, your breast keeps rubbing against my arm
While deep in my pocket are your hand and forearm
You rummage around trying to make a selection
All the while, giving me an enormous erection
Finally you think you have it, but I have to sob
'Uhh Jill, that's not my FOB! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow! Great fun, T. Michael. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.