My world imbued with luscious curves,
Of light swept thighs, and hips that climb,
I wonder on, in daily dream, as thoughts
Of her, and her,
Are seen.

A man, a being, of (supposed) mind,
Sentient, yet always blind,
Titillation occupies,
A thousand thoughts, which
few are mine.

In stark contrast the sun it swings
Through timeless place, its light
It sings. Awe-inspired my soul does yearn
To slip the grip of her and her.