A tribute to an encounter with a pair of beautiful legs.
“A Beautiful leg!”
I stammered.
Then I noticed her legs.
Between the frame
Jutting out of a tight skirt
Her left leg was brown and draped in stocking
Her right leg was shaped like a human leg
Was it was made of bronze.
"Uhh, a Goddess within"
"Don't mention the legs!"
"It's rude to make fun.”
She told me
“I can cross my legs,
but nothing seems to cross my mind.”
“Let us embrace each other
like we have the legs of two chairs.
Let us dance
like our legs are those of a chair
Cuddled close together.
And then there's the love
I feel from looking at legs
I can't touch, or at lips
that don't smile at me.
Or legs that don't reach for me.
And hearts that don't beat for me.
Her legs are so long and sexy
that I can see them miles away.
Framed like a picture
On a golden frame
Afternoon experience
Autographing exposed legs,
Outstretched in lines.
Afternoon epiphany
Those smooth legs
would soon lose all evidence
of my contact
when the sweat causes the ink
from the marker to run.
I am ephemeral
As they cross
the lines of my name
outward illegibly.
When she told me to sit down,
I didn’t know why I stood with her.
Ah, love—it’s like a chair.
It’s always sitting,
yet standing on its legs.”
Skirts don’t walk without legs in them.
But they can be framed
Let that be a lesson in love.
Image: Elmer Batters. Courtesy Google.