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'Lynsey'
the truest art is the naked enchantment of a woman.
just gaze at her, & dare to deny it.
regaled in the wind that holds her, & refuses to blow
in any direction. sunbeams, iridescent gems, that
alight in her hair, invoking radiant flares –
the rippling fall of her tresses.
the way she poses, pensive & subservient: does it
make her more beautiful? more desirable?
she drives a man’s yearning blood, hot as desert rocks;
commands the drumbeat of his primal, savage heart.
nor would her charm be denied to another woman,
a woman with the heart of a tigress.
she welcomes every bold paramour.
she is exotic, erotic
she is all at once coquette & pristine.
her admirers (males & so-inclined females)
allow their minds to wander with hands that
have never touched her, lips that were made
to kiss the troves & alcoves of her flesh; to seek
her hidden beatitudes: areolae, arrogant nipples,
the blossoming gates of passion’s austere glory…
her brazen posture speaks a sexual language. I understand.
(Art: Lynsey by A. D. Cook)
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