Eb's Flo
In a passion of fashion, at the height's
of female pulchritude; try as she might,
Wobbling to walk on five inch stilletos;
All she got were awkward gawks from the fellows.
So not a cat but board walk by the sea,
In a trashcan, she cast away, those shoes from her feet.
Immediately relieved in the sand standing bare;
Eyes closed, to smell and hear, seeming more aware.
As designed her designer dress, to her feet fell flimsy.
Her undone coif flowed with floating thoughts Botticelli.
She slowly approached the ocean's sound, waves rushing meaningless;
Yet covering enough of her legs; then waist, giving rebirth to Venus.
Copyright © Marcela Proust | Year Posted 2021
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