I don't know who she is, her name 
or where she's from.
I'd like to ask,
But the cat's got my tongue.
It intoxicates me, her scent on
the cool morning breeze
Pretty woman.
Wicked fantasies.

Same time, same hour, five days a week.
Like trains on opposite tracks, 
we regularly meet.
This stranger, this alluring African Queen.
This mesmerizing woman.
The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Her hair, ten shades past midnight black.
Soft and straight, cascading gently to the middle of her back.
Looks directly at me and wide-eyed I see...
Two saucers, large, delicate and round.
Long straight lashes.
Mahogany brown.

Thin and somewhat pouted lips.
Chameleon-like, keeps me playing
a guessing game.
The color.
Today, tomorrow, never the same.
Sometimes they part, a slight sultry smile.
Touch of evil, with the innocence of a child.
Revealing small, perfect, milk-white teeth.
Angelic.
Gucci on her shoulder, New York at her feet.

Tall and willowy.
Seldom wears a bra.
Pantsuits.
Long legs that go up forever.
Moves with the grace of an eagle in flight.
Totally unaware, perhaps, of my plight.

I don't know who she is, her name 
Or where she's from.
I'd like to ask,
But the cat's got my tongue
It intoxicates me, her scent on
the cool morning breeze
Pretty woman.
Delicious fantasies

Pretty Woman