These Kind of Men
Square-jawed short-nosed blond cheetah people.
Cute cat guys with fair skin and square chins
who might stretch out
on a scratching-post type couch displaying paw hands,
straight-tooth grins and curvy bicep arms.
Soft messy spikes of champagne hair. Coral lips
like a gift. Body a series of squares
and rectangles, 3-D parallelograms
torqued just so. And I said thick hands,
heavy hands, light and laughing eyes. Big and solid,
Mid-prowl, mid-growl, gold armhairs, halos,
rough-and-tumble blond cat men.
Or ski-jump nose pointed-face pony people. Men
big-eyed, dark-haired, shadowy coffee-colored,
looking down from taller heights.
Tawny and sinewy, wild, cheekbones showing.
Beautiful, all shy with a tan chin. Narrower.
A skinny torso to cling to,
to spread hands over, hard hips some distance
below ribs. So thin. Untamed, gentle
as a female deer about to run off,
one hoof testing uncertain waters. Sexy,
sleek and lanky, to whom does he belong?
Delicate, delicate face facing down, eyes up
And glinting.
Layers
It is midday and she reads on the bed. Her
curves are clothed, she lies on her stomach:
Copper strands strewn over a black blouse,
a line of purple shirt hem under the first,
next a gap between clothes layers--
a strip of skin, a narrow expanse
for kisses to stick to. Magenta
lace pantywaist, its scalloped
edge wrapped up in thick
denim stitched with pink
thread. The thread is the
same dusky rose of her lips.
Another woman's universe has
condensed itself to a focus on this.
Such a nagging question: separate?
They hesitate, cannot remove the last
layer: the slim-bodied second, her other's
limbs draped around that back, those hips
© Adriana DiGennaro
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