Glamour is a woman when I write her
Why not a man?
She was glamour,
sin personified.
I parsed her as a paramour,
her pursing lips, most dignified.
She was lipstick tube, boobs,
hips thick, loose shoes.
Half off high heels! What a steal!
She was glimmer of glamour in my mother’s eyes
Sisters all were reconciled,
Brothers agreed she had great thighs.
Let’s all keep our heads, why don’t we?
June 16
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