To start with your toes, so tiny and round.

I'd look to the heavens and no better be found.

Then to the feet, not a callous or wart,

And, may I add, wonderfully short.

Legs that abound with perfect tan skin.

Still higher I go, such wonders within.

Climbing on upward, an obstacle is met,

My eyes cannot move; I believe they are set.

I coax my eyes higher and slowly they rise,

Past your neck, lips, nose, straight to your eyes,

But in them I see not for that which I look.

Your eyes tell the story, I know what I took.

I pretend not to notice and stray to your hair,

Though I can't help but think of your horrible stare.

Now as I gaze, I see not naked feet,

And all the way up, your clothing discreet.