Oh, perfection!
Of smooth tanned skin
And sweet curving lines
The body of a virile god
'Tis glory living.
Dusky nipples set in flesh
More perfectly than ever a jeweler
Ever set stone to metal
A pentacle pendant, snug
On soft dark hair
Amidst perfect curves.
Shadows, gray and black
The silver grain seems
To stroke his perfect skin.
Just his hips show
In the frame, bare
Sweet, sensual creases
Suggesting what lies out of frame
Rich shadowed navel
Like a precious black berry
Set in a smooth, white,
Plane of a flat belly.
Dark hair spreads
From white forehead
Fanned upon the cloth-folds
Silky, teasing bare shoulders
Soft-seeming round face
But both silk and steel are there.
Arms spread, folded
Comfortably above his head
Dark-fringed eyes closed
In comfort? Perhaps.
As he lounges on soft folds
Of luxuriant cloth below.
Rich, full, kissable lips
Are parted. A sigh? Ecstasy?
I do not know, though
For all I've known
The intricacies and intimacies
Of black and white film
In my camera, and in the darkroom
For all that, I cannot read
Emotion from a photo, because
It is simply not there.
But photos are indeed power
Especially from a man of such
A body, a photo is indeed power
As is his perfect body and face.
Power over women including me.
Speak to me not of newer men,
When this past speaks to me.
Other men may fill the covers
Of every magazine.
This day and in others.
But this one cover is a masterpiece
From a photo of a man
Who is a masterwork of life.
A masterpice without equal,
A piece of art to me.