Waving

Torn hose cling to my white thigh, escaped flesh dancing
A black knit skirt clings like peach fuzz, veiling the latent invitation
Someone knows though, - I catch his not so furtive glance in the corner of my eye
Knees bent, I pluck at the plus sized pantyhose on the shelf
Sheer silks or regular smoking coal?
I'll take the latter - my legs are silk enough
The suit passes by again, scurrying back for one last item (or perhaps another glimpse)
This time I let my eyes meet his
I move through the checkout and my escaped creamy thigh waves goodbye