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She placed his timid hand just where the collarbone protrudes,
and lectured patiently about the pectorals, how they attach,
monocled, framed by silver hair she called men foolish dudes
but this one would be fine, she'd found perhaps her perfect match.
Her nipple rose as if to reach and touch his sweating hand
the speed of breathing changed, as rouge painted her face
he wondered briefly how a woman so benignly bland
could be so self-assured and buoyant in her grace.
They sat until the watchman made his early moaning rounds
a breeze had helped to firm her tissues in the cold
their close encounter followed, slyly, with its sounds
she was a lecturer, anatomy, I'm told.
Herbert Nehrlich
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