Oh my dear, what brings you here? Is it the pleasures of my company?
Shall I begin to play my mandolin, to recite tales most softly?
I do declare, I can’t control my stare, as you cross the room with grace.
For as you walk, I can not talk. As I am lost in the glory of your face.
But had I not found you hot, I truly could not be.
And as you pass my front door of glass
Your glorious ass is all that matters to me.
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