Nevertheless
Her short skirt clings.
I consider her thighs to be too thick.
High heels click.
Nevertheless, I watch her walk away.
The thumb and index finger
of one hand commence
to rub together like the legs of a cicada.
She has rhythm.
Thoughts buzz from ear to ear.
My mind is as sticky as flypaper.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2025
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