Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

A pretty dress clings to my hips,
beneath its folds, a silky slip,
my feet are sheathed in dainty heels
while a playful grin unseals
the scarlet tint upon my lips.

One marquisette broach tightly clips
its sleek neckline which slightly dips
and nothing compares to its feel...
                                      a pretty dress.

The wind is fierce, the hem flips,
his eyes hold a smoky eclipse
and a longing he can not conceal
as a length of leg I reveal,
a kiss he steals as the night whips
                                      a pretty dress.