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 gilt, 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.