Primal Ruminations
Little Black Dress
That little black dress…
Just hanging on your supple body
Concealing everything
And hiding nothing,
It talks to me.
It says, “ I dare you to rip me off”,
But my hands are tied.
Knowing how every moment
Has its own degree of appropriateness
Relative to a given situation,
And this is not the time.
It mocks me with its way of
Smoothly sculpting your perfect breasts
And playing hide and seek
With your soft honey thighs.
Then the dress says, “ I dare you”,
“I dare you”.
And I shift my focus from it to you
Her sly conspirator,
Partner in crime.
Baiting and taunting me
With your innocent nonchalance,
Completely at ease.
Moving with a gentle swagger
Of voluptuous charms.
A walking arsenal of
Feminine firepower.
Drawing to a point, my mortal side,
Unfurling every fiber of my body
Into one united rod,
Forged with fire,
And pumping blood.
The cognitive pilot that sits in my head
Has left the cockpit.
A program sequence overrides --
Words, actions, plans
Are tailored to mete out
A single purpose.
I feel like so many male insects
Who gleefully sacrifice their lives,
To mate once and die.
Driven, like I am driven,
By a signal, a call,
A flashing of eyes,
A soft spoken word…
The chirp of stridulating leg segments…
…Or a little black dress
Just hanging on your supple body
Concealing everything
And hiding nothing,
It talks to me.
It says, “ I dare you to rip me off”,
But my hands are tied.
Knowing how every moment
Has its own degree of appropriateness
Relative to a given situation,
And this is not the time.
It mocks me with its way of
Smoothly sculpting your perfect breasts
And playing hide and seek
With your soft honey thighs.
Then the dress says, “ I dare you”,
“I dare you”.
And I shift my focus from it to you
Her sly conspirator,
Partner in crime.
Baiting and taunting me
With your innocent nonchalance,
Completely at ease.
Moving with a gentle swagger
Of voluptuous charms.
A walking arsenal of
Feminine firepower.
Drawing to a point, my mortal side,
Unfurling every fiber of my body
Into one united rod,
Forged with fire,
And pumping blood.
The cognitive pilot that sits in my head
Has left the cockpit.
A program sequence overrides --
Words, actions, plans
Are tailored to mete out
A single purpose.
I feel like so many male insects
Who gleefully sacrifice their lives,
To mate once and die.
Driven, like I am driven,
By a signal, a call,
A flashing of eyes,
A soft spoken word…
The chirp of stridulating leg segments…
…Or a little black dress
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Little Black Dress
Little Black Dress