Her legs move, as would a lovers legs
She begs to stretch out
To the tips of her extremities
There is a small delay
As if the dream
Is warning the stroll of her fingers
She lingers, takes time out
To check her nails; she fails
Entirely to distract my attention
I only mention this
As an old man in an airport
With all the while to cream off
The edges of his youth
Long past searching for truth
He is becoming a fan of erotica
This is a poem from Vagaries:
Love of The Key to Room 149
