Place Your Bet

I could write poems about her collarbone.
I could craft sonnets about the nape of her neck.

I could assemble a booklet of haikus concerning the

     hollow at the small of her back.

A year's worth of letters to the editor

     could be filled

    with my thoughts about

     her earlobes.

Her blue eyes: chapters 1 through 12 of my Great American Novel.

To describe the curve of her hips, I would learn French.

For every part of her

I could compose

a masterpiece with paper, ink, and pen,

to titillate,

to thrill,

to transfix and captivate.

But the softness of her lips,

that's just for me.

-kj 

10/19/2022