Thou are not , mine ass —
without buttress — worthy
of praises high ; miracle
sublime ! What trick is
this ? Molded between
those fibers , black – jean ,
glory transpires ; ass trod
out , and shock the world :
juicilicious , taut , marble !
Who bequeathed our race
those holy , gilded cheeks ?
Immaculate folly , to wonder :
for who but Michelangelo
could wrought justice such ?