In the days when a lady was trussed
In a corset, to augment her bust,
It so flattened her front
And the walls of her cunt
That a chap couldn’t give a good thrust
Tag: bust
The eavesdropper
When she overheard being discussed
Over port, by the men, her large bust,
What they’d do, if they could,
(Would they? What if they should?)
She felt strangely inflamed, though nonplussed!
Blind-sided
He’d considered his marriage robust,
Was appalled as he watched it go bust;
All the tears and fights,
His wife going out nights,
Dressed to show off her lovely low bust!
Better late than never
She was giggly, a fainter, a swooner,
Her cunt tasted rather like tuna.
Though overly busty,
In bed she was lusty;
He wished that he’d rooted her sooner!
Putty in his hands
She stood naked, midst clay flakes and dust,
A fixed smile on her face, and nonplussed,
As she suffered the chill
And vicarious thrill
Of the sculptor’s cold hands on her bust.
Doing is knowing
She was prudish and quickly offended,
Or, maybe, she only pretended:
She must have known lust,
From her burgeoning bust,
And her belly, so plainly distended.
Basic instinct
She was pretty, but looked so forlorn
That, in spite of himself, he was torn
Between pity and lust,
But her arse and her bust,
And her pussy, though, gave him the horn.