Of all the delicious delightful decadent wonders of watching a Woman,
The flow and form of her saturated symphony,
The throat-clearing thickness of honey-suckled nectar,
Resplendent and radiating from her in waves;
Of the curves and swerves, the alleys and valleys;
Of the ineffable elegance that infinitely bathes her body in Heaven's Celestial Light;
Of the sensual sonnet that is the mere sight of her,
The most overlooked aspect, the most in need of rapturous rhapsody,
Is that which she may never see:
Of faces that launched a thousand ships;
Of hair as soft as angels' wings;
Of bountiful breasts and thumb-flicked firmness;
Of the sinuous slope of her waist;
Of creamy thighs and sculpted calves;
Of rounded hips and callipygian curvaceousness;
Of the soft folds of flesh that truly are the center of the universe;
Of all the consecrated arts and pink parts that make up a Woman,
Thousand upon thousand poets have taken quill to parchment
In an attempt to expound.
But her back....
That soft expanse of skin, not meant to flush with flame.
So quiet and unassuming, her back,
Perhaps fit for powerful fingers to rub and knead,
As the day's weariness and worry is washed away, or
Tucked in the Small,
That spot simply made for his hand,
As she's held in his arms
In private embrace.
But there is so much more to her back than meets the eye.
A woman of sophistication and grace cannot traipse
Through the market square advertising her wares.
Ah...but the refined taste, the confident
Courage of a woman who would display a disrobed back!
This, we do Not scourge, but celebrate!
A low-cut dress in front might be called sleazy, even trash,
But the same glimpse from behind is elegance, not flash.
Such a vast field of
Territory, her back -
What matador wields his red cape so enticingly?
She may not see this part of her,
The supple, rippling, poetic skin,
But a Woman knows it's there.
In the Inexorable dance of Seduction, a woman will
Peek over her shoulder,
Head tilted just slightly, as if marking distance to her pursuer.
Our earliest genetic memory was for a man to take his woman from behind.
Flesh to flesh, he is pressed into her back,
Burning its silken smooth feel into his chest.
The sway of hips, the heave of breasts, may be
Sex at its most basic level;
But seeing her bare back, her head a quarter turned with
Just a hint of a smile on parted lips -
This is the true trigger of leavening lust.
There is something personal and
Private about a woman's back,
And to watch her is to do so unobserved -
Or so you would think.
For a woman may have her back to you, but
She always knows where you are, and
Which way to to turn.
This is the essence of her elegance.
That slight shiver as she feels your
Breath just below the nape of the neck.
You have found your way back home.