Poem -

The lady

The lady

One hand on hip, her face at tilt
With every step her class is built
Cashmere draped upon her curves
Her sound constructed of carefully plucked words

She will not walk, instead she glidesĀ 
And as she does she steals their eyes
And furthermore..... she steals their hearts
But then, disaster.......oops,Ā 
she farts

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Coungers up the dark inside.
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