The truly incongruous thought of John Betjeman in tights appealed to me. So, hopefully with a touch of his endearing wistfulness regarding lust ;--
Your fish-netted thighs have me weak at the knees
As I dream of us climbing towards our trapeze,
Then standing surveying the crowd from the heights,
You in your sequins and me in my tights --
Then the audience cheering your lissom young charms
As you fly your parabolas into my arms,
And their gasp of alarm as you plummet and twist
Till I grasp you and clasp you by ankle and wrist --
And the thrill of your touch and the throb of each nerve
As you hang from my legs in a sinuous curve,
And the joy that would come, once I gathered you in.
From the nearness of sequins, the closeness of skin.
Away with my love for Victorian yore,
Let Erato my Muse flee my life evermore;
For I’d swap them today for the chance of a whirl
And an aerial tangle with one spangled girl.
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