As I cross the sidewalk
I see a pair of feet and ankles
Outside a two story window
I cross the street to my building.
I enter the second floor
Seeing more of the quirky soul
Their hands gripping
A battered paperback
I wonder at such an anomaly
Perhaps it's a result.
Of the a.c. blowing about
Chilly as a winter breeze
Upon their naked legs and feet
Being too enthralled
By a gripping plot
To press a button
Or grab a quilt.
They unfurled the shutters
And extended their legs
Outside the window
Whatever the reason be
I find it pleasantly quirky.
YOU ARE READING
LOST GIRLS
PoetryThose considering themselves lost girls of society. Godesses of creation among men. Or nymphs of nature. These poems were written for you.
