Whoever said that sex didn't make the world go round, was so far from the question that the answer couldn't even have bit them on the ass!
This image, for some odd reason, reminded me of a poem that I wrote years ago. And as I have warned you in the past, I'm not a very good poet....
[HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED]
have you ever noticed
how the handsome people—
I mean the truly beautiful people—
can get away with wearing
whatever they want?
Like the gorgeous man I passed today,
who was walking along the creek
dressed in faded grey sweat pants;
his muscle-bound thighs straining
against the thinning fabric,
with black dress socks and black penny loafers
and a rumpled red plaid flannel shirt
left unbottoned to reveal the center of his chest
down to his tanned hairless sternum.
His capless head of wavy black hair
and smooth high-cheeked face,
could have rivaled J. Singer Sargent's Dr. Pozzi,
framed against the sun dappled foliage
of the park, like some magnificent
animate water-color sketch
glazed with early morning dew.
God, if I dressed like that
I'd look like some refugee
having only recently escaped the sudden
confligration of my humble condo,
or dazed yet miraculously spared
from the tornado's unexpected fury.
But never the pretty people.
They are forever fashionably late
to some A-list brunch or an
on location photo-shoot
for the cover GQ or Vanity Fair.
I wonder what ever happened
to my pair of penny loafers?
~ (28 MAY 99)
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