Tuesday, January 3, 2012

blouses & skirts

blouses & skirts

she            keeps pressing
her hand
            to her chest,
closing off her breasts
from my eyes (the possibility of my eyes)

fighting her v-neck
flaring open
every time she moves

never realizing
her knees, calves, and ankles
            there below her skirt—
no hose, bare and shaved smooth
as living, polished ivory, though tanned—
are my fascinations,
me staring at the crossing and uncrossing

the dangling shoe
from a bare foot,
            a slip of the hem
exposing a knee

flagging me to worship there
at her feet

as she clutches at her own heart—
mine pounding,
            walked on,
kicked and stomped and smothered and scissored,
by those legs,
joint to joint,
hip, knee, ankle:

            i buckle from the weight


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