What drawer do you keep your stockings
Without secrets this life would be boring
Realize we’re all a little vain
Or we’d never get dressed in the morning
Moonshine martinis for the quiet lady
We all need an excuse to clear our minds
Offering a compassionate ear
The clues exist once you pull back the rind
Finding lipstick stains in the spilled ink
Dangerous curves under a vintage coat
Hushed tones as to not spook such a woman
The peculiarities of each soul; I take note
Wet Sunday mornings
Grass still damp from the rain
Fresh air still cool to the touch
Rising without a hint of pain
Voluptuary visions upon a treasured bond
Hoping we might become bosom buddies
Remotely fond of the Bon Vivant’s taste
When I proposed to you in the study
My parochial quips; unacceptable in polite society
Profane & unprintable odes to her formidable posterior
Writing what catches my mind’s eye
I can’t help it if my motives might be ulterior
Vice & folly are complimentary rectitudes
But please stop staring at the lady’s chest
There’s only so much to explain away
& no one cares the origin of your Preppy crest
Tell me what constitutes good head
With my mind clinging to her curves
These dreams; had their own Silicone Valley
Yet, when she speaks I’m a pile of nerves
Boxing Day is the day for cunninglingus
Cauliflower ear from her thighs
Witnessing nature’s perfect curvature
Nonperishable lust eschews the dandy’s lie
Vanity is fundamentally unstable
Draping you in silks & laces so gaudy
New souls full of an easy virtue
Just know, how badly I want your bawdy
Late nights blend into early mornings
Up with the weirdos on the street
Seeing visions where the shadows were
My mind tripping; my instincts in retreat
All the sand has fallen from the hourglass
Dangerous curves when I’m confused
Punching time clocks when I should slumber
Paycheck feels light/ feel like I’m being used
Leaving my underwear in the middle of the floor
I need more, but its high time for bed
To sleep, to dream; an impossible task
Passing ships with everything left unsaid
The beat making my Diesels sweat
This is beyond my usual scene
Usually I can’t dance without regret
Needing a lot more alcohol & caffeine
Glow sticks & the whole lot to lampoon
I can’t live life with digitized crap
Moving my body like an analog buffoon
I need to find a pretty lady to sit upon my lap
I spy one in my dizzied & frazzled state
I could definitely make her my new habit
She’s smiling at my attempt to communicate
My God, I see curves like Jessica Rabbit
I shake my head allowing reality to seep
Good fortune has shined down in this nightlife culture
I straighten my clothes; thinking ‘don’t be a creep’
& I flash the Cheshire grin of a hungry vulture
Seeing your beauty
I’m just a collection of nerves
Falling for you immediately
Embracing your delicious curves
She wore a smart suit
Setting her apart from the rest
She was a fine specimen
Altered from her years out West
The tailor created perfection
It loved her feminine curve
The details you won’t miss
Feeling beauty in your structured nerves
Those blonde curls, nice & tight
Noticing underthings peeking through
Regaining my composure in time
Don’t want my excitement to be misconstrued
Image by Daria Nepriakhina from Pixabay
I know you’re checking out your flaws
Standing at the mirror, counting imperfections
Negative thoughts like these rather gnaw
So I’m offering up thorough inspections
It’s best to take it slow around curves
Haste would be such an utter waste
Wanting you to feel it in each of your nerves
This examination shall be conducted by touch & taste
Captain Q 