Derriere Year

She struts in with cotton pink,
A declaration very cheek,
Shorts cut in a modified Vee,
Hung well below her tight belly,
But across her rock hard derriere,
In white letters very clear,
“Got Pink?”

‘Tis the year of the derriere,
Young buns hung with care,
Butts that strut saying much,
With out a verbal word shared.

White dungarees if you please,
Cut smartly at her bronze knees,
Two sizes tight but what a delight,
Holding her bubble buns very tight,
And across her rump that lovingly swaggers,
In words that never stagger in pink and baby blue,
“You Wish!”

‘Tis the year of the derriere,
Buns of fun suspended with flare,
Bitter sweet she works hard to keep,
The firmness of her ass-sets sweet.

Spandex donned she’s on the run,
Her strides are long as 3K gone,
In sweat and deep thought she wonders,
Where the seat of her pants belong,
5K down her foundation is sound,
Yet in white letters on her bum is found,
“Always Wet.”

‘Tis the year of the derriere,
Buttocks sculptured with dare,
Blessed are the cheeks that love to streak,
On hips- legs and impassioned feet.

It is part of the new literary fashion,
Statements made on bums of passion,
Intellectual treasures below the waist,
Suited to astute erudition's taste,
Letters young and innocently placed?
Across the fabric of higher learning.
“JUICY.”

Yes, ‘tis the year of the derriere,
Proclamations made in bottom fashion,
But the one fashion that says it all,
From a girl not small nor very tall,

With buns second to none,
Well hung and I’m sure lots of fun,

Jeans donned so very tight,
Removal would take a man of might,

A statement made simple and plain,
Across the backside of her lowly domain,

On jeans thin tattered and worn
Patriotic dungarees tastefully torn,

In sequined letters of red white and blue,
A manifesto of tail tried and true,
“THE END!”