Nothing Vulgar

There's nothing vulgar
About the way she parts her lips,
Or how her skirt hugs her hips,
Swooshing back and forth,
Defining her thighs.
And her eyes know something you don't,
A joke she could tell you but won't.
Where would that leave the fun?
The tongue that utters no sound,
But drops a load on a scabbed heart
As it curls and slips its way around
The teeth that like a cat's can bite,
But rather find it right to kiss. Just
Not the likes of a looker-on,
Pining with orbs like jelly,
Fixed under penalty of dissolution.
Those blue obsessions, I'm sure I saw them flicker,
For a moment when he said that,
But all politeness and flattery,
She holds out for more than less.
She knows how to wear a spring dress,
And I dream of a tender caress
That must abide within her arms unless
Some rook in her life has made a mess.
I'll ring his neck and carry her off
Into the sunset. Like ancient Greeks of fame,
If I can gather the nerve to ask her name.