Thigh short poem

Photo by FaceMePLS 

there is no single shade
forget the actual texture
the topographical contours
of the bone and muscles
it’s the mottling that fascinates

where the painter might strain
to be photographically precise
or the photographer to zoom in
to obscure the subject
with the overwhelming
presence of detail
I find myself stuck with metaphor
and that seems inadequate

the thigh belongs to a young woman
about a dozen feet away from me
we’re both seated
the air smells of ground coffee beans
she’s reading a text book
rubbing her skin
I guess she’s cold wearing shorts
and a thin t-shirt on May Day
there’s a mottled quality
as what shows through her skin
the blue veins purplish arteries
web her flesh which seems
a standard tone of caucasian
not pink, not peach
not if I were to risk all taboos
and put my eye up close
touch her follicles with my breath
enter her privacy and experience
the heat and scent of her
hear her sharp inhalation
before either a scream or a motion
or both take her thigh away
and bind the two of us
together inextricably

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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