Standing above gushing traffic, black negligee
Caresses your shadowed frame. Glistening
Sun bristles, roughly circumscribing
An aura behind modern apogee
Of perfection. Plump worn-smooth stones must stay
In place to define supple ripening
Modestly but overtly heightening
My sensual response to your visage. A
Natural reaction to synthetic
Composition. You don’t exist within
The stream you straddle. It slithers about
Your ankles, flicking, feathery, antic
Kisses, a convoluting, scaled chagrin
Never becoming apostle devout.
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