Tuesday, July 16, 2013

an ode to esperenza ...and bad poetry





Dear Ms Esperenza Spalding,
My, how you are certainly not balding.
With hand on bass, you sure ain't dawdling.

Oh Esperenza, when you do your thing,
My sexual preference, you make me want to swing.
Especially true when you open your mouth to sing.

Oh Spalding, with your hairstyle verbose,
My face on yours, I want to superimpose.
Many a follicle tip, I wish you to disclose.

Espie, when I heard your killer musical utensil,
Your sass I couldn't help but immediately pencil.
Your sweet melodies to this world are surely essential.

Dear Ms Esperenza Spalding,
My, how you are certainly not balding.
With hand on bass, you sure ain't dawdling.



Exhibit a.) over enthusiastic screen capturing

No comments:

Post a Comment