Consider, C-Wave, one of those imagined scenes:
the shore, finely ground sand, the waves, as sunset glows,
and, with me, you---having taken off shirt and shoes
clad in your faded, just a bit distressed, blue jeans
and, underneath them, the sheerest tan pantyhose.
Prudish Haters and thugs may deny and refuse
these words: but I say your Beauty proves you as Muse,
and I lay this poem in homage at your sheer-sheathed toes.