The surf accepts perfection wading in,
But coming out, you’ve let your swimsuit slip
An inch below one equatorial hip
To bare an ivory strip of unbaked skin.
That patch, before the shimmering marine,
Gleams from your silhouette as bright as bone,
Admitting to my map a tropic zone
That scarce another eye has ever seen.
Shall I unknot that drawstring, love, and peel
The veil a few degrees south latitude?
Or will the wilderness remain unviewed
Despite—or due to—my frontiersman zeal?
I’m daunted, dearest: such oblique attire
Condenses here an atlas of desire.
| Copyright © 2023 by Eric Meub Eric Meub is a California poet & architect. |
You are a frontiersman too – and a cartographer – as well as an architect of poetic pattern! Thank you, Eric, for sharpening my desire to continue exploring curves of orb and lapping of marine.
ReplyDeleteYour words and the form itself bring such sophistication to the beast and his desires!
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful sonnet here Eric. Now I would love to hear you recite it for us all sometime. Bravo young man.
ReplyDeleteWhew! (fanning self). Hot stuff. I always liked seeing tan lines, it usually meant something wonderful was going to happen! I've missed your way with words, sir, a pleasure to have you back.
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