MONDAY'S POET

Hey OddTodd!

Your site is hilarious. I don't have any mon-ay to send you, but I wrote this poem for a stripper I know:
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About Her

From the toes up
She exemplifies perfection
The ideal
Worthy of awe
Worthy of worship
The toes themselves
I am not so privileged as to view unshod
They strain against their patent bondage
Demanding my attentions
My mouth aches to gently press against them
Feel their pressure on my lips
Their partners the feet
Bound by the same cruel shoes
Cast them aside
Let me feel the warmth of bare soles
Resting upon my chest
As my hands move to the ankles
Those most delicate of joints
Junctions from Earth to the path toward Heaven
That path, her legs
Lithe, graceful
Skin is smooth, silken
A malleable porcelain
Her thighs prompt me to question my lack of faith
Only a benevolent creator with mankindís happiness in mind
Could manifest limbs of such a divine nature
In the interest of decency
Iíll not expound upon the wondrous confluence
Residing at the apex of those perfect legs
The lotus of her sex
The locus of my focus
But move on to the small of her back
Decorated as it is with pigments
The cresting waves
A powerful yet peaceful horizon
On which the constellations freckling her shoulders rests
A single mole camping just south of her right breast
Sheltered by natureís most desirable prominence
Her supple shoulders
Connection to arms both strong and graceful
Their only flaw in my eyes that they are not wrapped around me
Her mystical hands
Reaching toward me
But never quite touching
Her neck a dais of such splendor
It is the only thing worthy to support
Her perfect head
Eyes of an indeterminate hue
Shifting with the lights and her mood
Half-lidded as she peers at me
Deep creases from her aristocratís nose
To her pornographic lips
Their every pout
Every smile
Every word formed
An intricate dance of facial muscle
And soft, moist tissue
Though her mouth doesnít speak the words
Her lips call out to me
My own lips longing to brush against hers
Barely touching
Tracing their shape
Like a childís drawing of a birdís silhouette
Then press into them
Hard, harder
In effort to push myself into her
To become a part of her
To know her with the whole of my being
Instead of just my eyes.

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