It’s always been a love – hate kind of thing,
You hate them, they love you and greatly
Compliment your beautiful body kind of thing.
I would empathize why you hate them,
You don’t get to see yourself in them.
But for me! I witness a “meant to be” affair
Every time you are clad in them.
The last time you came to see me,
I don’t remember what your hair looked like or what shoes you were wearing.
I perfectly remember the way your black dress
Run down each of your curves in perfective sharing.
Your body relished in the enticing freedom
of being elegantly covered and unstrained.
It’s always looking forward to that experience,
And not just for the luring steaminess attained.
And you say they are not comfortable!????
Well, shut up! And perhaps we should ask your booty.
When it drops, without your jeans all up in its business,
It looks pretty comfortable!
And whenever I talk like this, you pick up where you left
off the last time, accusing me of flattery.
Then I say a lot, trying to justify and you accuse me of chattery.
The Bottom-line is, or should be where your dress meets your ass,
If it has got to be a short dress.
But in literal truth; the bottom-line is;
If ever you choose to believe me,
When you come to tell me am right, i hope you are wearing a dress.