She’s got ten thousand pricks

at her finger tips

Ruby red lips and swaying hips

A true Rubenesque beauty when she strips

Heads turn, Jaws drop and eyes pop out on stalks

Wolf whistles follow her whenever and wherever she walks

Her extensive list

of superlatives

ranges from exquisite to divine

She’s out a sight

She’s dynamite

This girl would blow your mind

When she walks into a room

All conversations stop

The silence like a sonic boom

But you could still hear a pin drop

Poets, Chancers

Romantics and Wingers

She’s got you all wrapped

Round her fingers

Another day and another prick

The curse of the type two diabetic

See we’re talking hyperglycaemia

and glycaemic index

Not as you first assumed

a poem about sex

Ten thousand and one pricks

At her fingertips

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