They hold within objects so dear
To many a man who likes a woman
And in a multitude of materials woven
and colours so varied for one to lust.
As to whether their support is needed
I am not one to offer judgement
Though when I see one; or just a strap
My mind begins to wander over
Yes, what they hold will sink a man
and make him surrender all his honour
Those cushion hammocks are to plunder
If only she would take my number.
A cheeky thought had crossed my mind
That beauty is far more than a teet
But bouncing bossoms will take me under
Oh what a sight; a glorious treat.