The Would Be Seductress Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

She stands behind him without
making a sound and acts
like she was his intimate muse.

He turns to look at her. She entices
him with one leg up to manhandle
her but he's not in a mood.

His minuscule volume of Latin
blood simmers but it's remote from
an Ole Torero!

Besides, he prefers brunettes with
palm-size breasts. Not the frond type.
She doesn't qualify.

Her right hand raised straight up
above her shoulder
waives at him in a frozen stanza.

He chuckles at her brazen lewdness.
She's stark naked. Doesn't know
she's not his type.

Nor does she smile.
Her blank expressionless face
has a wooden appearance.

She doesn't even wear
a Mona Lisa smile.
He garbles to himself

he'd never sleep with her.
She looks just fine on top
of the glass shelf.