1. First Couple
On his knees, his back to us: the pale honeydew melons of his
bare buttocks, the shapely, muscular hemispheres—
the voluptuous center.
His knees push into the worn plush of a velvet cushion
on the floral Oriental beside her cot.
He twists sideways — contraposto —and bends to put his face
into her crotch, between her limp legs,
one hoisted by his right shoulder, the other—more
like an arm—reaching around his back, her ankle
resting on his naked hip.
She’s wearing shiny slippers with bows; he has on
bedroom slippers and socks.
He’s got a classic profile: straight nose, sharp chin.
Cowlick. His hair tapers high on his neck,
outlines his ear, in the current fashion;
curly bob gives away the date (barely ’20s).
His mouth grazes her private hair; lips apart, he
keeps his tongue to himself.
He’s serious: if he were wearing clothes, and she were
with pipes, he’d be a plumber’s assistant—inspecting,
nothing erotic in his look, hardly
aroused at all (a little hard to tell, of course,
Flat on her back, on the dark, fringed spread, gravity
flattening her breasts, she looks
uncomfortable, but not unhappy. Her eyes
check out the camera. Her lips are sealed, yet—
isn’t there? —a trace of smile
playing around the edges . . .
She stretches out an arm to him, places her palm
flat on his head—guiding him so lightly, she
might be blessing him.