You’re as limp as a wet stocking
yet as frigid as a dry latex glove.
Deflated,
with the sculpted face of Dionysus.
I could frame that face
and hang you from my garden wall.
I will bring the rope,
but have you tie the knot.
I will admire you from beneath every archway.
I will sign my name below,
like I sign my own face
after the lipstick goes on.

It took him awhile,
To decide to dance,
He was always the first,
To roar, to prance,
Nevermind his sweaty palms,
As he pushed off the wall,
As he bowed,
Before her cotton dress in a graceful fall,
His hand hung for eternal seconds,
As she decided; looked around,
But, ah! Lo! His eyes, they beckon,
And as the entire room gawked,
At the bold, beautiful ****,
As he bowed before an ugly, pimpled nobody,
As if she were a queen; the most beautiful in this here, his flock,
And as the ugly, pimpled nobody,
Dared to consider, to frown, to appear unsure,
Of this, what was sure to be pure allure,
Finally, she ended his wait,
With hesitant nods, the innocent wide-eyed child,
He smiled beautifully, leading with a mesmerising gait,
They alone swept the floor,
She was surprised at this happiness,
And he was relieved of disappeared nervousness,
For he thought himself lucky,
To dance with one such as she,
The people they can stare,
He don't mind it, he don't care.