Girly Girl

She was a girly girl.
She had a waist, and hips,
thighs and breasts.
Not like me,
who was built like a stick
and often addressed as sir.

She was a girly girl,
and she walked roundly
instead of all angles
and never into walls.

She was a girly girl,
and was graceful
to my clumsiness,
and smiled gently
when my words
tripped and fell in her lap.

She was a girly girl,
and laughing deep in her throat
pretending not to see me 
sitting on my wanton hands
while my eyes pleaded
my case.
 
 
 

©artis wilder Feb 1998