If I stroke a girl's behind
There's nothing new to find
As the effort gives responses uniform.
I am fairly well acquainted
That the form, as often painted,
Has nothing much to vary from the norm.
And the pleasure thus acquired
Is never old or tired
It is always a delight to go through.
So I must thank genetics
For the smooth happy kinetics
That bestows the joyful sense that's always new.
Since, by fate, I am designed
To relish a behind
No matter how the logic finalizes

That a bottom might commend
Any girl I apprehend
In spite of lacking any new surprises.
That the current rear end felt
Never fails (below the belt)
To keep my life demented but exciting.
Praise gluteus, hail maximus
That evokes the best in us
To welcome love, reject the acts of fighting.

From one who rarely tipples
You can take it straight from me
That a pair if staring nipples
Revealed disturbingly
Are sufficiently sensational
To prompt the most irrational
Reactions conversational
That should never be.

The appearance of those spots
Does something to the mind
Tying logic into knots
Both disruptive and so kind
As to elevate the tensions
Beyond normal conventions
Creating odd extensions -
Inhibitions to unwind.

Preference may disagree
On stimulants incisive.
Which lock needs whatever key
Can be damnably divisive.
But hormones in humanity
Demand complete conformity
It's just basic necessity
And it doesn't bother me.