God Has Gone Up
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
She doesn’t think about his hairy pit.
She thinks about his arm, the right one with
Its bulging vein. She doesn’t think of tit
With nubbly nipple. He is manly myth
To her. That vein right down the forearm takes
Her to the realm of utterness. The arm,
With biceps and the shoulder shaping, shakes
Her to her jellied core. It causes harm,
Or something close to damage, when that flesh
Embraces her. It is a damage meant
To heal. She knows that. It is god made fresh
And vital. Soul and spirit both are bent.
..She thinks about his fingers and his hand.
….She thinks about his swelling, forceful gland.