A hint of petticoat,
A wisp of lace,
Dear, tell me so
Then I’ll pick up the pace.
A glimpse of ankle,
Even bare shoulder,
Now, to be frank, I’ll
Become even bolder.
Slide my hand to your garters
And that’s only for starters,
To stroke your bare thigh
With a passionate sigh.
Sweeting, I’d write a Petrarchan sonnet
If only you’d let me take off your bonnet.
