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Nomadic vixens prowl

Their rehearsed nonchalance inflames my daydreams

Each pouting mockery entraps my intent

Their proud pelvic stalking

Leads toward unobtainable delights underscored deliciously with deprecation

Are they focused on obscuring my meditation?

I doubt it, though their eyes flirt dangerously with recognition

Taunting, teasing out percipience to the frayed edges of sanity

Where I think I know how long my mind can linger

On the sumptuous credence of form and function

On bob and sway of desire animated

To the full glory of animalistic surety

I have hoped to entertain their fealty

Ensconced in perfumed, drowsy glens

Where I could praise them intimately

Till their passions overflowed

But such magic is intangible

Jam

© James Cross