I can be described as a butt and sometimes have a bunghole. I’m adorned with hoops and have two heads. With age I share with angels.

I sit on your head but I’m not your hair, I travel with you almost everywhere. I block the sun and brave the cold, Stylish, silly, or classy and old. What am I?

I’m a count of Latin descent, a number I merely rent. This riddle is one of near quincentennial sum, so please don’t downvote in hate. Use basic Roman skills, count upward with care, Read the number in my hint to find me there. One more than ninety five, with four to the left side, Written in Latin, not West Germanic guise.

I might me made of rubber, I might be made of goo, I might be made of skin and bones and organs, just like you. Close it up, lock it tight, make sure none can get in. We’ll be back soon, I can not miss, Kiss from a Rose again!

Perched on the bridge of wisdom’s gate, with crystal windows to see our fate. Two arms embrace, yet never hold, through them, a clearer world unfolds.