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Summer Night
Walking a long the beach
Nothing between the sand
And my sensitive feet
Except my silk stockings
Wet from the weaves
Softly caressing my feet
In the light of the full moon
On a cool summer night
The waves lapping at my feet
my purple nail polish barely
Showing through the opaque white
Of my wet stockings
my footprints erased by the waves
Like i was never there
Just a dream whisked away with the sand.
Returning to this one, I am still in utter awe!
Starward
There are few---very, very few---poems that leave me so utterly speechless that I cannot adequately summarize either their effect upon me or their inherent Beauty. This is one of those poems. You have totally created a summary of the Beauty of stockinged feet, and I can only stand here, with hat in hand, in the most respectful and awe-struck silence.
Starward