I love to look at luscious gourds,
but lately, ain’t lucked out with rewards,
which means I have not been able to view two.
Not squinting ’t tits,
giving me fits,
no gawkerfall, instead uplift.
The rhacksody [sic] I sing is “Halter, loosen!”

“Halter, loosen. . . !”

My face is long, lacking looks at boobs;
I guess I could race to youtube,
or maybe even contemplate pay to view.
But images cannot compare
to a bosom supple, sumptuous, bare.
From buccal box I summon: “Halter, loosen!”

“Halter, loosen. . . !”

Babies suckle ’em and then snore,
but I do not seek such outpour—
my eye globes want to spy globes, orbs sans muumuu.
But my optical orbs are parched.
Is that metaphor overarched?
Ain’t metaphor, my vented roar: “Halter, loosen!”

“Halter, loosen. . . !”

Once high spirits have turned quite low,
because that top don’t pop for show.
So I am on the verge of skirling “boo-hoo!”
I’m so blue, and my groove’s askew;
my ogle loves are none, not few!
I rue ’t but still I root for halter, loosened

Halter loosened. . . .

If only a homing dove
would pluck that string for nest above—
jugs tog, my jaw would drop; I’d holler, “Woo-hoo!”
That fantasy don’t ensue right,
and still I’m stewing in my plight.
Then the bird flies overhead and halt-turds loosens.

Halt-turds loosens. . . .

I’d no umbrella for the rain;
the baleful bird became my bane.
I bathed, it drained, I bayed: “Still crave to view two!”
I wanted no more of the bad bird;
I wanted no more of rack-sacks gird.
Let boulder-holding bolstered halter loosen.

Halter loosen. . . .

So for divestment. . .give a touch
to ties that unstay the jugs clutch.
Out bounce the beauts, I view and start to drool too.
I might go next for the strung thong,
but my jugsviewer bent’s “lungs”-strong,
focused on unslung dugs from halter loosened.

Halter loosened. . . .