Naked
Naked is love
in unpretentious guise,
with flesh likewise complex,
bare of contrivance.
In repose, in retreat,
in full glory it lies,
stripped to the atom
and cut like a jewel.
Each radiant facet
buffed pristine pink,
with genitals fresh
as the sort morning dew.
In connection, reflection,
the dazzling link
bathed in sensation
and spun like a dervish.
Naked is love,
of fragile construct,
with scanty delineate,
scarcest defence.
Inflamed, unashamed,
and so easily screwed
up beyond all belief
in the eyes of naked lovers.
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