To see a girl walking by,
her thong exposed, makes me smile.
Dark, mysterious, red in color
it disappears into her pants, into her 
treasure chest it rubs against.
As I walk behind her and think 
of how I can’t have her.
 
This causes me such untold anguish,
as I’m stranded alone in a solemn mire.
I see her thong lifting up out of her pants.
It looks like a phoenix in flight,
flaming plumage, red crest; 
I shall always cherish this sight.
I do this even while I lay in bed at rest,
thinking of that thong as it smiled at me
From behind.
 
What it is to me I cannot say, it is like
all my dreams come true to life when I see 
that thong grin.
The thong is like the blessed bright sun 
rising everyday, saving me from 
all pain and strife.

It shows off like a heavenly fruit 
hanging down from a tree; 
I just want to take a little bite.
Lost in a far off paradise as I stare,
this fruit I cannot have.
I can only see for now,
seeing will have to suffice.


My love for thongs is one without label.
For how can you mark a package with no bounds?
My passion for that exposing thong is one of fire,
one that consumes all in its path.
It is something of strong desire that I cannot explain.