PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Of course, he will celebrate your beautiful feet.

whether bare or sheathed in socks (but so very rarely shod,

that we all give thanks to Love, Who is God,

and Who has saved several cattle from the rancher's prod).

And you, too, will take his feet's delicate names---

without regard to the imposition of prudish condemnations,

launched forward into our conversations.

in order to compel our courteous compliance.

Well, this poem is about defiance.

Remember how you danced with him for hours---

his shirt (untucked and unbuttoned) offering subtle invitations

in an effort to collect the kinds of kisses

upon his pectoral circlers in exquisite blisses.

When dusk began its revelatory work, the air remained warm.

I had slipped away for some exquisite assignations.

They tell me he, too, vanished briefly (and, in this version)

returned---clad in a fitted jacket, without the shirt beneath

(a blatant disregard for acceptable fashion),

and his feet was sheathed in the most delicate of sheer, tan socks----

a fragrance, flavor and texture that halted calendars and clocks

Then with a beneficent smile, he whispered

these words that called forth succulent flowers from barren rocks,

"I don't know why I put on these socks---

"I guess I am just that kind of person."

J-Called