Don't walk too fast on the pavements -

you've got to watch the snails!

Her steps are cushioned, gliding on air,

as if she's strolling in a dream.

Suede brown radiance, a lady Earth,

as bronze streams flow like rapids

in her fire kissed hair.

An Angel from 'out of India',

elephants for hire and specialised incense.

An aura smelt in Pluto,

personified in red.

Soft lips compliment her eyes,

dangerously attracting

but tail nipped in the bud -

so no sting from this scorpion.

It's said that she plays piano.

I try to imagine fine fingers browsing chords,

that serenade me off in sweet symphonies,

to a far off sunny place.

I see her walking

along contented rivers,

smile on her face,

whistling tunes by Tori Amos.