A friend gifted One Troy ounce,
my passion’s hiding in the bushes and ready to pounce.
Hard to read, can’t tell if she’s coy in yoga pants with that fine bounce.
If I was a thief of hearts,
hers would be the one I’d pilfer.
A mint coin,
she handed it to me,
in fine condition,
I meant her loins.
Ounce after ounce, bounce after bounce.
We’re wrestling in Fort Knox. She’s in tube socks.
eyelashes batting, she’s rejuvenated my love for the White Sox!
Infatuated, I think not!
My heart wants her to saturate-it,
while she giggles in her tube socks.
How many ounces in them bounces?
Do I use a scale to start?
She’s petite but weighing heavy on this heart…