Sundress Season
She walks in light—no thunder, no sound, Just sunlight caught in cotton, swirling round. A breeze-born tease, a wicked sway, That little dress turns men to prey.
Laced in lemons, florals, white so pure, But Lord, that silhouette? No man is sure. It clings like a lover, slips like sin, A holy dress with devils tucked in.
Backless crimes and strapless grace, Legs peeking out like they own the place. She bends, and time forgets to tick, My jaw forgets how not to click.
That sundress hides and hints in waves, A flirt that kills and never saves. It’s picnic cloth and bedroom code, It’s church at ten and sin by road.
I love her most in that deceit— Barefoot, bold, and summer-sweet. She twirls, I fall, she smirks—confessed. Damn her, bless her, in that sundress.
