I see things;
like the lady who sells
foodstuffs, her dark eyes
shining from the corner of her window
a hen gauging a recalcitrant cockerel
her trailing gaze a brick of cement
chained to my feet
while i trudge in feigned oblivion.
In my imagination, i see her
on her toes for a tall window will be no hindrance
her heavy set behind
stressfully tucked inside denim jeans
threatening to jail break,
i say a silent prayer for its success sometimes
for it's a revolutionary leader
and i am a staunch believer.
her back bare barring the impressed lines
from consistent usage of bra straps
her chest is covered by a shirt pressed firmly
to her skin with one hand
while the other props her up, to aid a better view.

i also see my neighbour;
her massive bosoms flailing like David's stones
I must be Goliath. while her hands
dances all over my body
'touch me in all places', she pleads
her eyes lightens up with expectations
her smell of hot bread inviting
she pulls my hands to underneath her wears–
a gown held closed by a line of thread–
ostensibly bare, just for this purpose.
she presses my palms to her chest
"don't you want this?" she quizzes
her widened lips revealing a decades long tradition
of daily teeth washing strictly adhered to.

alas but I am faithful.
and mad.