When Not To Gaze. Poem by Terry Collett

Have you read any Kierkegaard?
She asked her blues eyes searching
Yours almost reaching right in and
Making a grab for your soul. No
You replied wondering how many
Guys had spied her breasts tucked
Up neat and tight like some birthday
Gift and not been tempted to reach
And touch. Well you should she said
Better than that Nietzsche or Sartre
And she sat down in the chair by the
Window waving a hand for the waiter
And crossing one leg over the other.
No lady crosses her legs and sits like
That said Mother in your head some
Memory stirred. She ordered for you
Both in her best French and studied
You with silent stare and you trying
Hard not to gaze at her unclothed thighs
Breathed out deep and closed your eyes.