Through the coverture of the miniature aperture,

The amateur admired her curvature.
As a connoisseur of her pedicure,
He likened this plat du jour with haute couture,
But this being Yom Kippur, he demured
And reassured her that, while his overture was premature,
His love for her, to be sure, paramour, was geniture.
He was, however, insecure.
Seeing her allure
Wrapped only in fur,
He warmed to a Reaumur temperature.
Turning the color of green manure,
He wasn’t a pretty portraiture.
He could only imagine his emboucher
Fast on her garnitured cynosure,
Manicured just as many are,
And tasting her signature epicure.
He pondered how many men ever were
Permitted the singular adventure
Of venturing lips to her manicure.

by Lizz Caplan and Merriam-Webster