Let the soft belly of Saturn be shown.
Let something else show too,
if you are brave.
And what of a reveal at all?
How close is a reveal to anything
not fringed of fantasy?
says the delicious whisper of cloth
that unfastens the body.
Baby long live those legs,
only saying hurry when it hurts.
Only please when you mean it.
I’d give you all the stars
slipping across your milky chest,
spill them as secrets
into the pocket of your silk blouse,
but they are not mine to give.
This velvet only mine for the hour.
You are some lover’s closest joy,
but you are most certainly not mine.