Love is a close
Relative of lust.
That judges it,
For wearing a
Revealing dress.
While it wanders
Naked in disguise,
In the minds that
Preach pretense.
What's wrong
In the intimacy
That grows by
Fire of skins,
Friction of hips..
And the stroke of
Calling that's evoked
By the wake of
Genitals?
Purest of longing,
Should it linger
Only in heart?
Is that such an
Obvious stereotype?
Against the drapes
That limit the
Depths of desire.
This is a poem is
A nudist's satire.
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