Standing Naked Before The Woman

At noon in broad, over-exposing daylight, fresh from
mid-day love, his leisurely flesh shines for her, still flushed
with her agile praise. Not in pompous glory in these
golden, ripening middle years when the skin is flavored
with wise wrinkles and bold bulges shaped for reclining,
nor in the brazen manner of conquest, a knight at the gate,
nor a servant of purloined pleasure, a thief of delight,
but sanctified wholly, unencumberedly, totally, with no
due credit, with few fleshly credentials, a no-deposit/ no-return
man of the noon-day sun. He knows the real light
is hers. Old memories of old loves scatter like scared rodents
found out by the bright light of her persistent, her sculpting
eyes, so long and pleasurable, so forgiving and fragrant
with sustained desire that he can only accept this dream:
to be reborn at midday in the full-orbed eyes of a generous woman.