You pause the tape. Your arse's rounded stare
Is enigmatic as the Mona Lisa.
It has its charm, and symmetry to spare,
But frozen on the screen it's no pert teaser.
No. Oddly sexless, vulnerable, bare,
It looks like prey for any cheeky squeezer.
You sigh for its pale pathos, watch no more,
Switch off, and head towards the room's one door.

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