Her Body

When she stretches on the bed,
I can’t look elsewhere instead.

The subtle turning of her lip
Suggests the curve below her hip.

No vocabulary tells
The special way her bosom swells.

All the length of limb and leg
Seem designed to make me beg.

In her navel’s hollow lies
A secret far beyond the skies,

And what her mons veneris spells
Has mystery in decibels.

Oh, I could go on and on—
But there she lies ... and now she yawns ...

Charles Deemer