Wears her clothes
In a cumbersome way
So she removes them
Uncomfortable in her skin
When it is covered.
She stretches
Naked now
And walks onto the balcony
(An effort to be seen)
Over the edge,
She peaks without reserve
With her perfect breasts
And her legs that reach up eleven floors
To meet the perfect, round shape of her ass
She plays a symphony with her hands
As they stretch
And reach
And touch
The nudity of her skin
Inside again, she lists about the house
Still naked
Placing things on top of things
Pressing things like buttons
And wandering...
Just wandering.
From across the street
I can feel the pull of the balcony against her skin
As she strains against it
Pretending not to notice
How beautiful she feels when she is on it:
A queen
In skinful splendor
Above the vassals of the clothed below her
She breaks beneath its will, the balcony
And walks
Again in rich ascendancy
To view her many acolytes below.
From her perch above them all,
She watches them, her acolytes
Still naked, she
Moving like ants, they
Throughout the breeze
Unaware of her sovereignty
Her nudity
Her extreme benevolence
And her virtue.
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