You can lie for courteousness,
That you never look
But I know where the flame begins,
In that private space inside you,
In which you can never help but look,
At that pretty bra strap of hers,
Peeking at you,
Begging you to be tugged,
To come and explore

Forget all those sweet manners,
That hold you from your aches
That never give you enough vision,
To appreciate your animal self
Look at that wonder skin,
Decorated in clothing so tender
With those two black straps,
Peeking from within,
Asking you to come tug at them

You can’t hold back,
Because you know,
You’ll dream of those hidden gifts
Through nights when you’re lonely,
Wishing to lie at some woman’s bosom
With wine,
And chicken by your side
Watching bad television,
And speaking absolute nonsense

Those bra straps bring back nostalgia,
Of love lost,
Of things said at soft bosoms
With that pretty young lover,
Who promised you the world
Those bra straps,
They make you feverish

What is it that the breasts of a women,
Tinker with in the insides of men
It’s more than just touching,
More than just holders,
To embrace while making love
They symbolize tender care,
A hospitable pillow for tears
And those bra straps,
They conceal man’s hope for peace
A false hope

Bra strap and wonder skin beneath,
You must touch,
The things that make you tingle,
Life’s not a moral struggle,
It’s a little tale of wonderful things

 

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