TFLN Poem - Manners, Mammories

Hey.

Here's this week's  www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.

(+44):

You're an independent woman who is defined by her own actions and not by whether or not you have a man. You also have great tits.

Granted,

Objectification’s a vulgar muscle.

Can’t be on the level with a person if you’re salivating

Based on a certain sinew or gland they’re packing.

Got a firebrand in your voice when you’re confiding

Your five year plan.  You wear sneakers and stomp with delight. 

Seen you put an arrow into

A rusted coke can from two hundred feet,

Using nothing more than a wooden bow and some sweat.

But I, I must confess,

Those full, dappled shapes.

Nestled like rare, artisanal desserts in a t-shirt, or a sundress.

Tiptoeing against my chest

When we greet one another,

And, in defiance of all decorum,

The poker face crumples.  I blush,

I move my hips as far back as possible,

Not to offend.  Not to be loathsome.

But to have you avoid the unbearable

Monstrosity that is me

Beyond words or the filter of reason.

Otherwise, 

Were this a fantasy,

And were you as feverishly fond

Of me as me for you,

I’d succor those secured soldiers,

Wrest them from the winches of the clasped bra,       

Let them breathe a while.  I'll be a pilgrim of attention.

Watch, smile.  Eye upon eye with you.

And only then would I curve

My soft and eager fingertips

Around this shivering landscape of sense.