Sexy teacher, sexy teacher, how I love you!
Sumptuous, buxom, your jugs just drive me wild.
I have the twain stuck in my brain; therefore, I drool,
even though I am just a six-year-old child.

(Prepubescent lust isn’t mild)

It’s dismay I have I can’t have sexy teacher.
I cry when it’s time from the class to depart.
Every day to you an apple I schlep,
then I gape, stare at your nape, bare.
And hip-staring am I, sexy teacher.
A cunning linguist I’m not; like a dog, I bark.

Ah but, sexy teacher, I leave no mark.

Evolved have my feelings for you, sexy teacher:
there’s a swelling in a certain body part.
In the class, my ears keen to hear your step,
then you are there—screw pi R squared!
Life just ain’t fair. . .can’t have sexy teacher. . . .
the swelling comes not where you think, but in my heart.