THE SURVEYOR IN BED
She's waiting for him nude. His eyes rehearse
her contours, gentle planes east/west/, north/south
and now they angle down on her, traverse
feet, legs, hips, waist, set markers on her mouth
and breasts. She's lying, ready, on the grid
of his desires and he knows her terrain
by heart and hand: soft, summery, languid,
he has triangulated his domain.
The little copses of dark, curling hair,
meadows of skin and rivers underground
are his and only his - and yet, somewhere,
he hears a jealous Pan-pipe out of bounds.
A smile plays on her lips: she reaches out
to touch him with unmeasured notes of doubt.
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