through tremulous shrubbery
that flashes with damp glints in the breeze.
Calming warmth draws crowds tanning
to music, tinny in the distance.
She clutches hectic garments
blown full of life by
this Spring's first wind to cool, not chill
wakes her nipples up, which
poke through cloth; her
slip peeks past
a hyperactive skirt. I almost
laugh; she may see my shirt
carress my chest nonchalant
before her gaze through a gauzy veil
of brunette thrown forward
stuck to red lips that gasp
the climb's effort.
She knows my pants run invisible
fingers of air down my legs,
shares this tacit pleasure;
her clothes flutter in
stuttering folds that cling
tight, stop motion flow, sensual
striptease that shows and doesn't show-
not like the Buddha-sunbathers flat
naked on new grass, oiled smooth.
Is that null depression or pleasure?
Better not to know; better
to make love to the wind with her
in subtle menage.
by Jason Paul Fox
illusration and web page by JASON PAUL FOX
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)
2007 Jason Paul Fox