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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