In Tribal Dress Some Smiling Girls Pass Me (Cavatina) Poem by Gert Strydom

Their bare breasts shake,
there is something natural in their gaze
like cats that wake
to the world around, predators moving;
a small keepsake
swing on a golden chain in the valley
of breasts, I am caught in the small alley

while in a throng they pass with sweet laughter,
captivating
like big prowling kittens they move along,
they are eating
me up with their huge gleaming dark brown eyes,
are debating,
are sneaking up with a wild innocence,
yet with a clear mature insistence