Attraction Exhibits

I am doing, I think, the best I can.
Not always good enough, you understand.
If it is required, I will make a stand.
And where can, try to get the upper hand.

Sometimes it is splendid, the best I can.
Delivering on what is that demand.
And with that success, my world does expand.
Can think it real, not a castle on sand.

I do try to achieve the best I can.
When fail, I may receive a reprimand.
But have to explain, did not go as planned.
It is not where I expected to land.

My expressing my love the best I can,
may sadly only be the best I can.

So beautiful. Was breathtakingly so.
I gasped at the sight. Could only splutter.
Heart fluttered at the loveliness on show.
Her being so near, a joy to suffer.

I made the attempt to keep breath normal.
To converse some way ordinarily.
Meant as casual, but it felt like formal,
reflecting that stunned momentarily.

Later, at the thought, tingling sensation.
Put it down to a form of excitement.
Her presence, the only explanation.
Switched something on. Sort of enlightenment.

For, with her beauty, was surely a glow.
And looking like that, breathtakingly so.

I do not know how she manages it;
with being that lovely, all of the time.
If goes by a mirror, will notice it,
and think it natural, looking so fine.

Maybe some effort is put into it.
But however much, comes out beautiful.
To my mind, for beauty, definitive.
Wherever, visually wonderful.

It would take a better poet than me,
to do justice to her magnificence.
And she lives with it; simply lets it be,
as though ordinary, her excellence.

She must think it is simply typical.
But, only with her. She’s exceptional.

Close fitting attire, like a female suit.
Kept within, but where the flesh swells, it shows.
It is not, but know that could be, let loose.
Free to move as this kind of freedom goes.

The outfit accommodates curvatures.
Smart fitting, even if deemed casual.
Feminine protuberance, it assures.
Tight may seem to be, but not tight at all.

And then her straight long legs as a feature.
Stockinged, whatever called, stand out. Stands up.
Covering, part of dressing procedure.
From the face, look down. From the feet, look up.

A pretty face atop of this dress, snug.
Extremely pleasant, I would say, to hug.

Staccato. Her poem was staccato.
It told of a broken relationship.
When, why, who, how, did not say; do not know.
The outcome not one that she did predict.

For it was love at first, then out of love.
Disappointment leading to bitterness.
Break-up occurred as enough was enough.
Moving-on was thought in her interest.

Neglected? Taken for granted? Abused?
Bad behaviour for far too long excused?
A betrayal? The feeling that misused?
Coercive control that she did not choose?

Speculation of what could have been so,
expressed in her poem, voiced staccato.

What you’re suggesting to me is awful.
I don’t think I can go along with that.
Have no experience of it at all.
Would not be at all sure how to react.

Old song, “I can’t go for that. No can do”.
Or else, “I would do anything for Love,
but I won’t do that”. Once done, can’t undo.
Could be quite shocking, and it might be rough.

One more, “I never want to hear you say,
I want it that way”. I want it that way?
You having me do, could cause me dismay.
It is not like some innocent foreplay.

To my mind, ‘strange’. As was sung, “off the wall”.
It may be love, but sounds to me, awful.

How would I describe her, this young woman?
To my mind, she’s a blonde pocket rocket.
Acting, modelling, she said her calling.
Her lit face would look great in a locket,

or photograph turned into screensaver;
on television or a movie screen.
Movement, too, doing viewers a favour.
The essence … nicely … of a drama queen.

She likes, I think, fantasy and romance,
so in fashion will grace a floaty dress.
Modern, though, on a date or at a dance.
High octane performance, bound to impress.

And more so after RADA acting school.
A Marilyn Monroe on rocket fuel.

It is an illusion; a fantasy;
that you have any interest in me.
I latch on because you are a beauty.
But you are real; this, not reality.

I think there is a latent connection.
A potential that could be, that could be.
Might be upheaval; an insurrection
emotionally; but, not meant to be.

Thoughts of love; anyway, such a version,
would require an almighty conversion.
Cannot be, even where there’s immersion
of thought. It’s just that, as an inversion.

For, although impression that delightful,
it’s only an illusion, after all.

Well met, if at all, at a time and place.
Not drawing attention to the meeting.
A sort of hiding in plain sight, so safe.
Like any such friends each other greeting.

Well met, for a significant purpose.
To express what feel is necessary.
Could easily be a secret, surface,
but disclosed as if a necessity.

Well met, at midnight, midday, whenever.
A lovers tryst or spy’s assignation?
What must be said, is said, whilst together.
Imparting connecting information.

Well met, if seek to stay undiscovered.
‘Friendly acquaintances’ has it covered.

Gold. Shades of Gold. Loose covering of gold.
Subtle gold. Gold fleck. Some in the pattern.
All apparent in dresses. In dress-fold.
In silk, cotton, fine cloth, I imagine.

In the window, there, three such ladies-wear.
All with that warming, hint-of-butter look.
A little less yellow though, to be fair.
Beauty of colour should not be mistook.

Any one be for mother of the bride;
or of the groom. Or for special visit,
of royalty, or to where they reside.
Being dressed-up in a way exquisite.

Those gold dresses on show in the window,
are to be worn. They’re gold on gold, you know.

You see the girl in the Majorelle dress,
she makes you think you are in Marrakesh.
Oh Yeah. Alright. Can’t help but be impressed.
C’mon admit it, that’s blue to excess.

See that one, too, with the Majorelle shoes.
Dancing with her likely leave you confused.
Be thinking, next, need to buy her some booze.
Few blue curacao, though, give you the blues.

And, see that girl with the Majorelle ring.
With that hand she is gesticulating.
I do hope I am not imagining,
her pointing my way; “that guy to me bring”.

And that girl, there, has a Majorelle gate.
Ah, but I know her. I know she is great.