Here she comes,
She's a pretty little muffin top!
She bounces as she skips to the checkout line.
Come to me, my pretty little muffin top;
Let me dab the make-up from your eye.
Beware the backwards baseball cap,
There's fruitish schmuck within!
They seem to know so little, if not less.
Drop a load,
Then hit the road after they fill your chin;
Like a terrified guard abandoning his roadblock between 6 hags and a buffet of cakes.
Cringing as the crones salivate,
Their ruthless jowls lash out, gnawingly masticate.
So follow me my luscious little muffin top,
I'll sweep you off your ass and treat you right.
I have to face the fact that I'm ridiculously attracted to you,
I've trodden in the bear trap of your delight.
I'll probably crack wise as you fidget for replies,
I'm blissfully in touch wif me inner dolt.
Your comments disregarded like the oral farts they are,
I'll humbly smooch past where the freckles stop then fiercely burp for more!
I'm faithful as a wart.
Fat in hand, we soak the sacred core.
Nothing's much impressive if you refuse to pay attention,
Perhaps you're looking under the wrong rocks?
The dreck is stacked against us,
We've far too many options.
You've butterscotched your boxers;
Your agenda is attack.
Your assoulmate won't text back.
He says, "Checkmate," then pees in your piggy bank.
C & P Copyright Chris Giunta 2018