A Poem A Day, Poem #26

she is dressed for poetry hands like some
angels had caressed her body with especially
soft fingers leaking down her dress until
knees are barely exposed, mockingly elegant
with peek-a-boos
and the air between is where mysteries--beneath
the skirt--make thoughts wander, and the legs
that stretch from the secrets told by her thighs
are only stifles of word sounds trying to assign
some formula to those meaningfuls she makes
in my mind
and heart songs are not nearly as lyrical as her
feet, moving mindfully like her toes were
untouchable things, digits for dancing,
places to start the climb up for finding the
freedom of femininity that men can not describe
without chisels and lines, words or angels