I like Titian…
And Botticelli…
I love their women’s eyes…
Lips…
Breasts…
Hair…
Expressions…
Positions…
Postures…
And tastes…
As they form in my mind…
Inspired by said images… Imagining their jokes…
Movements…
Sounds…
Sexual techniques… But I wouldn’t want to see their X-rays…
Or intestines… I’m happy to know how bodies work…
The bones…
Fluids…
Sinews… But I don’t need to,
Indeed, don’t want to,
See them of every woman,
I’m attracted to… Skin serves a great purpose!
Not only for its possessor,
But also for its admirer,
Assessor… Same with feelings…
And ideas… I don’t need to,
Indeed, don’t want to,
See,
Or know,
All the inner intestines,
And structures,
And bowel movements,
Of every girl-I-wanna-fuck’s thoughts,
And emotions… I like intellectual,
And emotional,
Skin! And Jane is primarily little-girl intestines,
Without enough skin! ‘Should I do this,
Or should I do that?
But if I do this,
He’ll think that,
And then she’ll think this,
So perhaps I should do that,
Or maybe this…?’ (I, too, write my own intestines,
And micro-particles,
For the world to see…
And I would never blame anyone,
Male or female,
For wanting to look the other way,
In search of some big-boy skin…)