seventy seven and sunny
forcing your body to do work
sweating out last night’s booze
convex lens in hand, I have an excuse
to exclusively train my eye on your knee highs
bold as blood amidst a sea of black and white
you love knee highs.
in fluid motion passes plastic
body to body, hand to hand
with varying ease and grace
but none with such as yours.
through this rotund glass I
choose to frame and compose
to see the field I want to see
reduce each figure to anonymity
remove myself, the context
remove the meaning of Person
with the exception of you.
despite my manipulation of space and shape
I still taste the saline on your upper lip
feel your fingers pull my pony tail
you’d said stop, bashful and embarrassed
by the griminess of your sinewy limbs
and the grass stuck in your beard
I didn’t care.
at times it can be better to live with
splashes of mud on your hands
drops of sweat on your tongue
a little dirty.
