A poem for all those ladies who are fed up of their men staring at their chests when they’re trying to have a conversation.
I’m chatting to my lass again
When comes the sharp rebuke
“Stop staring at my cleavage!
I’m up here, see? Please look
At my face just once awhile
It’s really not polite
To talk just to my bosom
All morning, day and night”
I sigh and raise my eyes to her
I wish that she would see
That it’s a compliment of sorts
Meant quite genuinely
It’s time you girls got used to it
For half the human race
Prefer to talk to boobies
Instead of to your face
Is it really all that bad?
At least you’ve our attention
Even though it seems quite rude
Vulgar, now you mention
Can’t you just accept that we men
Have a fascination
For your lovely rounded parts
The gems of all Creation?
And at least it’s yours I’m staring at
Not some other lass’s
For there’s millions more of them out there
Nice tits and curvy asses
I’m showing that I love you
By gawping at your bust
And that it’s you who makes me feel
A pleasant tingly lust
So next time that my gaze drifts down
Don’t sigh and roll your eyes
Just take it as a compliment
And quietly let it by
.
.
Author’s note: this poem has since been republished on ExpertsColumn, here.
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