Walking Art

Forgive me if my gaze
Has made you feel uncomfortable.
I assure you, you remain clothed
During the process where my brain
Transfers visual stimuli into thought.
There’s nothing sexual going behind my irises.

I am simply admiring the symmetry of your form,
The perfect geometry of your face.
I know the city is not a gallery,
And that you are neither painting nor statue,
But these parallels blend in my mind like watercolors.

I am mesmerized by the science of your body.
The moment, when you walk, your thigh muscles
Turn potential energy kinetic–ah!
Da Vinci would have marveled at your grace.

But you’re right: this is neither place nor time
For me to engage in voyeuristic pleasures.
How about this: Can I admire the sleek contours
Of your hands and your thread-like fingers over coffee?

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen