An arse should be palpable and ripe
As a globed fruit,
As soap bubbles in the air,
Low to the bass-worn dance floor
In tight jeans and Daisy Dukes
An arse should lift me up, in trouble,
Ready to yell “timber”.
An arse should not be motionless in time,
But like the Jell-O jiggles,
Revealing, as the g-string escapes,
Cheek by cheek, the night-untangled rump,
Packing junk in the truck,
Like the Griswold’s on vacation.
An arse should not be motionless in time
But as the Jell-O jiggles.
An arse should be equal to: