Paul Tanner


she was stuffed 
into a long skirt.
it was like clingfilm around her thighs
and hugged all the way down to her ankles: 
she looked like an upside-down pear.
she could barely move in it.
and as she went past me 
doing these little trots in heels, 
I saw there was a hole 
in the stitching at the side,
high up on her thigh:
this tiny peek of leg flesh, 
like a diamond in the dark.
all I could think about
was running over 
and licking it:
would it be stubbly? 
would it be smooth?
would it taste of some lotion,
or just good ol’ sweat?
I wanted to lick that diamond
so bad 
but I’m a good man 
so I didn’t 
and she trotted on
quite safe in her little stifled trots.
I wanted to lick that diamond 
so bad 
but wrote about it instead 
and now you do too,
don’t you? 

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