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.