Skin

To call it alabastery

Insults its subtle mastery

Of light and shade, of texture and of hue,

As it runs from hill to hollow

(How my fingers long to follow!)

So smooth and oh so sinuous,

So charmingly continuous

That while to count each jolly

Little follicle is folly,

It’s the one thing that I really want to do.

Some are mad for lips or wiggles;

Some go nuts for girlish giggles,

And eyelashes have done for quite a few.

But what drives me far insaner

Is the undulant container

So deliriously chock-a-block with you.

George Simmers

(from An Essay on Rhyme and other verses)