Untouched, Me
She could not touch me.
Her honeyed fingers, coated golden
catching waves of shimmering heat.
On brisk, hot summer days, she swelters.
Reaching from behind a pane
of palest, pallid plexiglass.
Floundering. In her smile noted,
needs to usurp tastes untried.
On tongue of pinkest posies, ponder
imperceptible spasms as eyes dashed to me.
Searching, seeking for her whited knight.
Scathing eyes lay bare those mere mortal men
who dare not meet her expectations.
And flounder.
Her eyes, oh how they trace my form.
Catching subtle, muscled movements.
Flex of chest and thew of thigh
to send her sighs and gasps aflutter.
Still, beyond her wicked window;
lying back in darkened niches,
desires of a full-grown woman, caught
midway up this girl's rising breasts.
And so I see her flounder, pouting,
like the woman-child she is.
Hands that lightly brush across
hips conforming to curves of womanhood.
Youth and adolescence fading.
Yet, touch me not is she allowed.
Her flighted steps and willful wiles;
Tucked and kept within her basket
of leavening breast and stormy eyes.
Head downcast as our shadows crossed
upon the road, in separate directions.
Yet shadows care not which way you go;
To lie upon the same bed, mingled.
So, this young lass has become
entangled, unsundered within my gray form.
And at her apex, eyes fetched a glance,
her orbs did come up to 3 o'clock, stealing
a look upon my smooth jaw, muscled.
And then, oh how she floundered.
this is captivating, I've read it many times.
What a pure joy to read this authentic (and dare I say, humorous) poem. Fantastic my friend!
Quite simply... an excellent poem! One to read again and again.....Jerry (*_*)
Enjoyed your write
I really enjoyed reading this...a magnificent write..dazzled with a fine mist of sensuality... simply wonderful
You know, I can honestly say you're a good poet, and good poets are rare. Fine word-rexture and rhythm. Very sensuous. I appreciate the fact that you actually craft your poems. You don't indulge in mere self-expressionism.
Pure delight with rose colored glasses removed. Dorothy A Poet Who Loves To Sing
Wanting to be admired and desired but not quite yet
this is just right on the money ..such a fine gift to catch a thing just so .love this poem
Oh my God, this was absolutely far too much fun. It made me try to flex my chest...at my freakin age. Wonderfully rendered. Your friend in words, Pete
A fine tomb to unrequited love. Recommending this one.
you have given life to my late night with this great poem, a real pleasure to read.
That eternal game of love, how marvelously rendered, dancing in the fringe of explicit yet managing to tantalize with reality's pleasures, how almost intoxicating. Wonderful. La. Concluding so perfectly too. Beautiful.