Ode To a Naked Woman
I found it on the internet,
done up in shades: black, white, a gray;
a photograph of a woman,
what her name is, I cannot say.
She’s not wearing a single stitch,
and casts a shadow on the ground,
her limbs arranged in such a way
that her picture won’t be taken down.
It starts with dainty, pointed toes,
long shins and slender, curving calves,
lovely thighs glisten in the light,
the kind women are jealous to have.
The hips are full and alluring,
nut obscured by a blocking knee,
in the right spot to keep us men
from seeing her Holy of Holies.
A stomach toned but somewhat soft,
hint of six-pack, but nothing more,
her arm splayed across lovely breasts
to keep us from seeing much more.
Still-wet hair trailing down her chest,
hints of shoulder swooping to neck,
a mouth that’s hanging just open
as if tempting to what comes next.
I’m sure some are now reading this,
convinced that I’m just a pervert,
yet if I did this in oil paint
you’d all call it my master-work.
Friggin’ painters have all the fun…
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