This poem is in no way inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “Your Feet“.
Your legs are not beautiful.
Well, no, perhaps I am being hasty.
Your legs may be elegantly sculpted
paradigms of the human form,
a fusion of abstract perfection and flesh reality,
wondrous to behold.
But they are not beautiful,
to me.
Your legs are an invasion.
Looming large each morning,
in my uncurtained window;
draped in loose practical pants,
spattered and stained;
as the scratching of your scraper
at the paint upon my lintel
shatters my silent dawn,
my early solitude,
my masturbating hour.
Quite an interesting verse…nicely presented text.
I’m not entirely sure what I want to say about this one.