Oh! You think so highly of your beard
Lo, that you would shave it for only me!
and the curly brown hair atop your head
Soft on my breast as we lay between sheets
I could write a paragraph on your thigh
the softest of your form
And trail words from clavicle to loamy ***
with poems on every scar
I could strand myself upon your chest
Straddle you there, and sing of each calf
But most of all I love your smile, with edges that cut my tongue
And the lift of every spindly lash
Could you return such prose?
A body a canvas, a romance
No. I don't suppose.