the gods themselves
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oh dear heaven ...
how subtly innocent and eager
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow
and envy for even the inimitable
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink)
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement
saucy, exposed hips
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy
(and not returning without discerned effort)
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo
adding to the sassy attitude
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus
faultless, blue-white smile
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours
the gods themselves are sobbing ...
the gods themselves.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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