I don't want you to bother
building up a thick lather,
your shower-soaped hand
moving between your legs,
then reaching the long-way round to
spread yourself wide open, bending forward
just so that you can drag the steel edge of a razor across
your soft skin

I’ve never stood
in a field of wild flowers and
thought it to look overgrown

You don’t need a single drop of perfume
on your *******, near your *** or on
your sheer white tank as I don’t mind
the taste or scent
of your sweat,
dripping
from your summer skin,
glistening in the
afternoon heat.

No need to burn
your soft long locks between
two tongs,
to pull them taut, or blow them dry
to make them straight.

Your curls,
untamed and  
and unpredictable
need no refinement;
I'll follow them as they
twist and turn

I want you my love,
unvarnished,
unapologetic,
unfinished,
unrealistic,
and most
assuredly
unshaven.