(A study on youthful beauty)
It’s the way she turns
It’s the way she turns
that paralyzes me,
such subtle movement
subconsciously
mercury sleek, languid,
torturing me
for straying too close
to her hypnotic
shimmering curves.
With a near imperceptible
breath of a tremble,
slim balletic muscles form
to ripple lithely, trilling
through those perpetual lines,
long
body perfect
sand dunes,
elongated,
lightly swept
no sculptor’s hand
could fashion finer,
eyes granite
lips porcelain
breasts marble
sex chalk,
each curve and fissure
set fair,
secrets kept.
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