Of almost bare, the derriere
of women wearing underwear
that covers little, I would sing,
and thongs that are designed to cling
to buttocks closer than a panty,
no longer scandalous though scanty.
As with impunity I peek,
I glimpse the glory of a cheek
that's framed by threads that grace the groin
and turn it into tenderloin,
for less is more and life is merrier
when thin lines hemisect the derriere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem