ReConfigured: Palette, 8

Your silvered sandals---

open-toed, really just a sole
with a couple of slender straps---

are not part of this color scheme,

now that you have stepped out of them
(as always you dislike the confinement;
and are much aware that a shoeless woman
defines her own beauty beyond a poet's words).

 

Your opaque tights, plum in color,
perfectly cling to your contours;
the coy wiggle of your toes
is teasingly visible as you flex your feet.

But, bare from the waist up,
the color of your fulsome flesh;

the pink on your lips, the blue on your hair---
season your curvacious beauty,
which orchestrates all my senses

(and banishes even the least distraction)
so that all of my senses are engaged:
having watched you, I now need to
touch and taste you,

inhale your fragrance,

and hear your contented sighs.
With a coy smile, intent on mutual pleasure,
you begin this pas de deux

with the gentle glide of your plum- and softsheathed feet
upon and all over my eager, upturned face.

 

Starward

 

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