Are you suggesting no one has said,
“Your throat is divine; it begs the simplicity
of a diamond solitaire or a strand of ordinary
pearl-colored pearls”? Are you implying
that people don’t lean over your shoulder,
lean close to your abundant cherryish curls
& stare at your milky neck, its silky sculpture?
It practically pleads to be bit into, licked, breathed
in the way a hive breathes in the bees tasking
away at honey making & waxpaper wall building.
I particularly enjoy how, when you lecture, wax
on the poetical, or smile, it visibly trembles.
Rabbitlike. It thumps. As if your very heart
were caged there, amidst other unspoken
words. Vehicle to your lips. So when you
cover it as you often do in scarf or collar
I think it is a subconscious act, like the
endangered Bengal tiger parading in
his zoo room, dreaming in Bangladesh,
dreaming in black & white, dreaming in tiger.