Slickened Interior like Patent Lust
You’ve become a leather outfit just for me,
But not a black one. You are supple, brown,
And warm. I bend the elbow and the knee,
Then feel that sturdy thigh…and touch this frown
Of leather at the armpit, creases that
Stretch out to needy smoothness just behind
The knees when I lift up those ankles at
The crucial moment where those parts enshrined
Inside such suede-like surfaces will hold
The secrets of the space of hips and crotch.
This richness of the trousers made to mold
Around those secrets hidden in a notch
And bulges, competitors, spreads best
Except for, maybe, sweating, gasp-filled chest.