Her Legs Are Like Earrings Poem by Mark Heathcote

Her legs are like earrings I've never worn.
They're something to be dangled,
before an electrical storm,
Like a fig vine, she snakes through my mind.
Clad in jingling charms, these veils fall.
Shedding her skin of fear.
Shedding her guilt, she burns to the core.
All scales removed, she wriggles
curled like a frond, moist in every pore.
The jungle has abducted her senses.
A great winding river enters her falls
Her kisses, like big, sticky dates, tremble.
As she slivers aside dawn's dewy-wet morn.

~or~

Her legs are like earrings he's-never worn.
They're something tireless to be dangled,
before an electrical storm,
like a fig vine, she snakes through his mind.
Jingling clad-in-inexpensive charms a veil tumbles.
Shedding her negligee see-through coils of fear,
shedding nonsensical gilt, she burns to the core.
All her lifeless scales detached she-wriggles
uncurling like a fern frond, moist in every pore.
The jiving jungle has abducted her senses
a great winding river enters her falls,
while kisses-like-big-sticky dates land gently.
Breathless, she straddles the dawn's dewy-wet morn.
An orchid atop of an electrical storm,
butterfly-winged, teetering, hitherward-blown, forlorn.
Towards a passion never listless, flung en route on love.