A poem about a stripper.
Pandora knows exactly what I want to listen to.
The music starts the spark inside of me.
Then comes the makeup and attire.
After the last finishing touches are done,
I’m primed up and rearing to go.
I want to get in-touch with my inner stripper.
I aim to please and be pleased.
It’s my turn on the stage and I’m ready to shake my money maker.
The clothes slowly peel their way on to the floor.
One layer at a…