Out hunting on a Friday night,

    I entered the old Absinthe bar.

I sensed the atmosphere was right,

    And that the quarry was not far.

With drink in hand, I took a seat,

    A cozy, cushioned, corner chair.

A respite from the summer heat,

    I spied a sight beyond compare.

A woman with her back to me.

    Her rear comprised a perfect sphere.

With curling locks so heavenly,

    That barber hands would fear to shear.

And as I gazed upon her back,

    Her face encased by mystery.

My lust increasing without slack,

    At last she turned for me to see.

I felt as if I smoked some pot,

    Because my body turned to stone.

There are some sights that’s best forgot.

    And something worse than sleeping alone.

end