My lovely’s company would not be called fun,
Smiles are more common from untamed lions.
If skin is cashmere, then hers is leather,
Breaking dry twigs, her hair is not feathers.
I have seen Shamu, who does not compare,
My lovely’s size causes men much despair.
Her cheeks, far from a fleshy delight,
Her face is the twin of a butterball.
Monotone sarcasm is all I get,
Her choice of words the lowest form of wit.
The odor of lavender o so sweet;
Oh but not my musky, sweat drenched lovely.
Though some may view her as beyond wexy,
To me, my lovely is so dang sexy.
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741