Commoners_Alike, light of my labor, fire of my loins. Middle C in a well tuned piano. The key note of your wardrobe. Soft as the harmony; sharp as the tempo. My expression, my art, my garb. Five syllables, fourteen letters, C cup. As smooth as stocking lace on her inner thigh. Seam and stitches, we are the aesthetic. Commmmm- plain Com. Hums from the belly and loiters inside the lips. A raw edge, some rakish ribs, a revealing hem! “Come on come on.” Errrrr. The err is the twist, that definitive detail. The chorus that makes her sing, it gets away from you like all good things, your favorite shirt she borrowed the morning after. A rightful err; nothing common about our attire. Aye with a capital Aye: shapely, grounded, ugly, beautiful, drapey, fitting, staunch and tall. A bridging score and then the like, oh and we like. We make up the score, the bass, the lead, the tone, the pitch, she taps her foot we nod our heads, a unique silhouette, an erotic jiggle, a turned on nipple, popped up soft cotton wash. We are Commoners_Alike, ambiguous in nature, open to interpretation.