cheekywhisper

She kneels down low upon the rug,
A box of parts, a focused pose,
The way she twists a threaded plug
Outshines the style of runway clothes.

The cordless drill fits in her hand,
She lines it up and drives it deep,
With curves no blueprint ever planned,
And promises a guide can’t keep.

That forward cap, those denim shorts,
The ink that flows along her thigh,
There's nothing sexier, text reports,
Than how she works as time goes by