What about your body makes me melt at the thought of you? What about your body makes me weak in the knees? What about you makes my eyes wander like a child in a candy shoppe? Hereafter is what makes me say, "Do do that voodoo that you do so well!"
"What to my wandering eyes should appear...?" First, I see your high heels that you don for the evening (please, oh please). They are a symbol of feminine sexual superiority over my quivering male body. Second, I see your legs, encased in those shiny pantyhose -- shimmering like a sunny lake on a dewish Summer morning. I then stare relentlessly at the exotic, erotic curves of your legs and calves -- reaching to your behind. And here, my eyes stay, until I notice your chest.
Oh, my god! Those shapely mellons, stretching at the tight fabric encasing them. Very like the heels on your high heeled shoes -- your cleavage is beckoning my inner wont for your body. It renders me "emotionally erect."
I must break my stare to make eye contact with you, earthly angel. Your face is the cherry on the whipped cream of your body, that draws me into your eyes, drawing me into your mind.
Your cherry red lipstick, wet with a lick of your pink tongue that appears with the occasional word. And your hair, gently gracing my face and thighs (at times), is like the feel of your pantyhose as your legs slowly caress my thighs. So sensuous and making me so interested.
This is what has woken me -- with a bead or two of sweat on my brow, and a wet appetite for your body. To caress it, to lick it, to taste it, to worship it.
Notes From The Author: You may e-mail me with any comments about my poetry.
I dream of that special lady - and one day I shall find her.
you are here: 
