You reach through the fog
to grab a little hand
and lead me across the street.
I see your sweet-smelling skin,
Cashmere Bouquet fragrant and smooth,
when passing the barely open bathroom door.
I love when your behind moves
side to side and the men’s eyes
follow, like hounds on the scent.
I love the perfumed scent
of your skin through
the tight wool skirts.
I love to hear your heels,
high, stiletto and black,
dance along the pavement.
Heads turn and sounds leave mouths,
but you don’t hear them.
My Buster Browns gallop to keep up,
but you don’t know that.
Mama, I love you.