50’s dream girl,
poodle skirt, suspenders.
Thrown, stockinged feet pass face,
shoes a memory left long
in the thrill of his hold, she’s gone
soft in his arms, necklace almost lost,
skirt whispers over silken skin,
heart, body and soul, swish.
This is the thrill, this, is the thrill, of it all.
If he’d just look in her eye
as she hangs on and on and on.
AH March 2011.
Edit – inspired by this picture by Chris Steele-Perkins, shown in a Guardian story
to be included in my forthcoming collection a staff of asklepios (if/when it is published)