An Ode To Juicy Couture Sweat Pants
Oh ye of the softest terry material,
Spun woven for maximum pleasure,
Snapping at the ankles to ensure that you don’t flap,
Drawn ribbon-like curving gently around the waist bulge,
Holding on tight, you remain open to being open:
For a quick visit to the restroom or for a mile high sojourn.
You arrive in popping electric colours,
For if that isn’t enough to draw my eyes to you,
Then the shiny letters that spell your Juicy name –
Poised perfectly on the owner’s luscious bum…just do it.
When you appear at the airport terminal,
I see a flash of your brightness and then suddenly you are gone,
I look around quickly, hoping to catch sight of more…
But you choose to ignore me, tease me, tantalise me.
So enamoured am I by your flashy presence,
So envious am I with the wearer of your mystique,
I fall prey to your flighty aura,
I search for more of you, drawn like a moth to a flame,
And like a moth that perishes,
I very nearly miss my flight.
I see you slide smoothly into first class and my surreptitious glance,
Leads me to the Juicy derriere lounging peacefully on a plush seat,
The wearer’s eyes masked by a hot pink furry shade
Keeping all ills at bay.
Misery’s claws creep into my lime-green soul,
As my plebian cotton and I trudge back to our seat.
Juicy: your soft touch, furry and alive, warm and sensual,
Burn a fire within me that nothing save a glass of the fiercest poison can quench.
My word, the very moment this winged vehicle lands, I shall have you.
You shall be mine; and next time, I will be The Girl With Juicy.
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