deja vu its just happened again

horrid dimpled orange peel blight

hammer and tongs from the back

unaware of her rump of cellulite

 

sedentary jobs they're behind it

losing my grip in stark moonlight

pulled away with undiluted relief

shuddering at the feel of cellulite

 

shame is, her front is pure bliss,

but how can I explain my plight?

she's proud of her plump body,

mayhap is oblivious to cellulite

 

lapse of concentration I pleaded,

shame-faced at my lack of might:

not happened to me before now.

did not raise the issue of cellulite

 

ought I to leave her in the dark?

just wish her a hasty goodnight?

or counsel her about her cottage

cheese, that mattress of cellulite

 

heard she's warning mates I'm

the whey-faced, impotent shite.

how to redeem myself, unless

I spill the beans about cellulite?