A naked woman upon the figurehead Standing proud in the breeze Calling to the Sirens & wenches Knowing the truth of these seas Her beauty remaining firm & intact The ship around her orange with rust The sailors with splinters in their palms For she has a wooden bust
An innocent looking soul Draped with an ethereal gown Confident strides across the patio With Eve’s revenge Crisp air – like the first bite of a green apple Obscured; knowing her nectar to be my cure
I watch her bosom swell It’s not objectivization For I worship her Refreshed in waves This transparent Victorian hypocrisy Knowing all that ails & an unseen wound
Yet morning crests Pale orange sky forces it’s way through space In the arms of naked trees I’m celebrating femininity Spring’s arrival in a sundress As she teases me with breathless recitals Our love not by design But still goes well with NorCal wine