It is the journey of the eye from her waist,
round hip curves to thigh and up the other side
and over breasts that, covered, seem so chaste.
It is the nature of these outlines as they glide
on skilled toes, heels raised, viewed from fore or aft,
starboard or port. Which ever way she’s faced,
the street she walks can never be too wide.
It is the bend and straightening of the knee,
the not-too-over-emphatic craft
given to the sway of practised ambulation
and, most of all, her confidence and glee
in effortless perfection she has laughed
to hear herself described possessing,
seeming unaware of the fruitless fascination
of a hundred men, transfixed, including me,
desiring, fantasizing and obsessing.
Oh God! Oh look! Oh wow! Oh glory be!