PHOTOS OF NEARLY NAKED WOMEN

It’s a funny thing about the young lady
On pages eighty-five and eighty-six
Wearing almost not a stich.

That ravishing woman with bedroom eyes
And the slightly open lips
Sporting a swimsuit
In Sports Illustrated.

She with the tousled blonde hair
Lying in bed
Covered only by her bedsheets
Buttressed by cologne advertisements.

You love her, don’t you?

But the funny thing is
That she
Can never love you back.

You can’t see the light and love in those
Bedroom eyes.
The way they connect with yours.

You can’t feel her hands on yours,
Her forefinger grazing your thumb.
She can’t squeeze your hand
And smile that glowing smile.

Her lips can never meet yours
And bring you that much closer to ecstasy.
You can’t see her moles, her flaws,
Her foibles or her magic.

I’ve stopped ogling the girls
In Playboy, Penthouse
And the strip clubs.
If you only felt what I do,
You would, too.

I feel, I taste, I smell, I love
The beautiful woman on my arm.