THE LOVELY YOUNG LADY
There is a lovely young lady
(you know her), the one
In whose soul you’d swear
Ambition speaks in such muted whispers
You might take it for selflessness,
Until, she deems you, like me, benign
Enough to offer a glimpse within,
And then you’ll see…
(As I saw, you shall see)
How, in fact, her soul shrieks,
Indeed, incessantly shrieks
For its elusive reward;
Pitched, though – as from one
Of those curious whistles -
So high that only dogs
And I (and, perhaps you) respond;
Still, she fancies those sacred vibrations
Resonate in her alone.
Oh, never do I tire of studying her:
Obliqueness and indirection
Are essential to the game -
Detachment vital. For it would be
Like studying the foam on a wave
As it swells to sweep over me,
If I am passive to the charm
Of her lassitude.
So, ensconced behind doorways
Peering from many a discreet angle
And at carefully chosen moments
I watch her loll
Her solitary body on her solitary bed
With that indolent sensuality
That one lover for another reserves.
How wondrously curious she is:
Savoring through distended nostrils
The warm fragrance of her mouth’s exhale!
How thoroughly content:
One moist inner thigh coupling the other.
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