These Hips are Talking
Dear Ms Clifton
Who inspires this homage to my hips.
The ones that bore two
And loved a few.
The ones that grow and recede
Like the moon’s tide.
The wiggling wanton ones
Desired by some and used by others
The ones that inspire thoughtful dreams.
Sometimes honorable and others wet.
The ones that are second too often
Like a spare pair of jeans.
Only coming out of the closet
When the favored pair languish in the laundry
The ones never coveted by the wearer
Who’s unwilling to trade comfort with uncertainty.
The ones I own and will sacrifice no more,
Deserving to be treated right, prioritized.
These hips are all mine
And if you want ‘em, I’m not sharing.
Poetry being what it is, is an expression of the soul. So please proceed with caution as my soul can often be found on the dark side.Feel free to comment, suggest, or just tell me I'm one crazy b!+(#-- Thanks for visiting and either warn off or refer a friend.
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