Waving

Torn hose cling desperately to my smilng thigh, escaped flesh dancing – like a sultan’s mistriss

A black knit skirt clings like peach fuzzzz, veiling the latent invitation

But someone knows, maybe he’s onto my scent

I catch his not so furtive glance in the corner of my eye, as I stoop over, knees bent

My fingers linger along the rows of pantyhose Taupe or caramel?Sandal toe or nude?

Sheer silks or smoking coal? I'll take the sheers - my legs sizzle perfectly enough all on their own

The suit moves past again, scurrying back for one last item,

or perhaps another glimpse my way?

This time I let my eyes meet his, a mischievious smile beginning to creep across my blushing lips,

And as I move through the checkout, my escaped creamy thigh waves goodbye ……



(reposted due to accidental deletion)