Her skirt clings to her like a lover
tightly clutching at the apex of passion
slipping against her thighs with the rythem of movement
soft and swishing in the rapid movement of her stride riding the waves of muscled flesh.
I hurry thru the crowd having lost my pace
in the reverie of beauty and motion.
I wonder how she escaped me in shoes that are less shoe
and more spikes screwed into her heels with snakes serpentineing about her toes.
We fold in like cards in an amateur's shuffle
some ignoring the alternate order emptying one hand quicker
thru the door before being trapped
back in line waiting for the elevator to cut the deck.
posted by Perdita @ 9:44 AM
5 comments
5 Comments:
I'm not entirely sure what your poem was about, but it did make me feel all 'anxious' downstairs... especially the bit about spikes screwed into her heels...
what's the rush? jump out the window if your in a hurry.
and where's that black eye?
Look here Johnny don't be a complete git. I was trying to catch up with the hottie, not defenestrate myself. Herge is definitely the type who would do the same....catch up, not the defenestration bit.
Geez Johnny I would be very disappointed in you, if I didn't think you were just trying to hide in sheep's clothing.
as for the eye...not nearly as impressive as I first thought, tho' swollen and a little blue at first. There was some unidentified frozen meat at work which worked well...don't ask, no one could tell me anything about it either.
now would someone with the name menace hide in sheep's clothing........... and are you british...git..
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