NYLON STOCKINGS
by Dorothy Collen
Magic material
Concealing, yet
Revealing
Turn pretty toes into
Velvet soft cat-feet
Eyes travel up
Past hem lines
Into mystery
Where thighs meet
The stockings are smooth
And soft to touch
Why can’t looking be enough
Or touch them while they are on another?
Why must I want to share
In this feminine ritual?
I am addicted
A prisoner held in silk bondage
I will never be free
Until I die
My craving gets worse every day
My body now in agony
My mind broken
I give in and put them on
But it’s never enough
More and more feminine, I crave
Until nothing male remains