December 7, 2003

  • The feminine form


    wreaks havoc on my sensory: What, after all, am I looking at?


     


    conditional curves, delicious dips, profound protuberances, accentuated accesses


     


    a pelvis that wobbles like an ocean’s wave, a-surge with belly ripples that rushingly radiate


     


    soft, fuzzy body hair that looks, in a light breeze,  like a wheat field a-waving from a take obtained hovering up in strato-space


     


    knowing feet that step so delicately yet deliberately that I wonder if they don’t have more intelligence than half the human race


     


    clear, casting eyes that fixate on the truth in a heart not a moment too late


     


    a poking tongue that teases how easy any inch of flesh can to an erotically provocative use be put


     


    a lower lip that dangles slightly with a word unspoken churning up a vision of love pouncing delight upon that pouty in the night


     


    breasts that sway like chandeliers pendant and swinging during a minor earth tremor


     


    buns that strap so tight that  the seam of a panty is a formidable ridge considered in topographical relief


     


    engorging crevasses that mysteriously appear with inescapable allure at the very moment of a numinous heartquake


     


    Havoc, I say, havoc!


    Cry and let loose the dogs of Eros.

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