the heels of the trade in that they appeal to the sensuality emanating
The trouble with much of this is simple: close to the end of it all, you realise that life is about three things: love, sex and the money to keep the two former aspects afloat. All else is window dressing.
Everything you can think of can be reduced down to those three needs. If you seek any profound truth about life, then forget the worthy tomes: it all lives, plain for all to see, in country and western songs, in the blues. You can fling clever semantic tricks around as long as you like, play syntax like a maestro, turn a phrase on the head of a pin as sweetly as the angels dancing there but, in the end, itís that warm, shared bed and the full tummy that really, really dings your bell.
Or you are already dead, and just didnít notice.
I like high heels on nice legs.