It’s Blue…
Beauty takes care of its own.
Knowing this, I’ll face the rage of myself
A women’s most beautiful
Naked and moving slowly
Through warm earth waters
I sit in these pools of warmth
Letting go of the geometries of shame
The urban necessities
Of heightening or hiding beauty
Rather than letting beauty sit on its own.
Naked women enter and leave the waters.
Degrees of beauty enter the pools.
Tootsie pop nipples and cottage cheese thighs.
Lithe bodies and mastectomy scars.
Wide hips and landing strip trims
Tight young asses and sagging breasts.
Seeking comfort being in their own bodies
And, in doing so, taking away my own rage.
I watch with as soft as possible eyes.
I want to know what love is.
I know that love is there if I want it be.
I just have to see that its wrapped in beauty
And hidden away between the seconds of time.
If I don’t stop for a minute, I might miss it.
A woman. Maybe in her late-sixties
Moves through the pool.
She looks like Lauren Hutton
I had a crush on Lauren in the 70’s.
I notice her, her eyes, blue.
She moves, stretching every now and then
I watch from the third step down
From the open entry to the hot plunge.
Amongst the many degrees.
I sneak peeks at her.
Her eroticism deserving of its own haiku.
I look at toothpicks of trees on the hillside.
The results of a massive burn several years ago.
I hear movement behind me.
It’s Blue.
She sits on the first step,
Legs together, her knees almost touching my back.
My heart quickens.
I can’t say anything.
I want to say everything.
I won’t. I’ll be embarrassed.
I don’t have to be any less of a man
Or anymore than my own insecurities
I turn to her and whisper.
“Excuse me”
Is it loud enough? Too soft?
What’s the blowback going to be.
Ice? Satisfying to my heart.
I like sitting on the third step
The warm water goes right up to my chin.
I have to wait for her acknowledgement.
She looks of to each side. Behind her.
“Excuse me” I say again.
She looks to me, leaning in.
“I have to tell you that you’ve got beautiful eyes” I whisper.
I turn away,
I am aware of a smile
That has become incandescent.
In an instant
Her palm rests on my scalp
And slides towards the nape of my neck.
A gentle stroke of thanks
Along wet matted hair.
It’s becomes quiet. That’s enough
It’s all that is needed.
I look out at the toothpick trees.
I feel a burst of breath on my neck.
“I have to tell you”, Blue says.
“I like your red tattoo. It’s a Native American sun”
I return the thanks.
The tattoo of the Cheyenne sun is located
Directly above my cock.
