1. First Couple

On his knees, his back to us: the pale honeydew melons of his
        bare buttocks, the shapely, muscular hemispheres—

        the voluptuous center.

His knees push into the worn plush of a velvet cushion
        on the floral Oriental beside her cot.

He twists sideways — contraposto —and bends to put his face
        into her crotch, between her limp legs,

 one hoisted by his right shoulder, the other—more
 like an arm—reaching around his back, her ankle
 resting on his naked hip.

 She’s wearing shiny slippers with bows; he has on
 bedroom slippers and socks.

He’s got a classic profile: straight nose, sharp chin.
       Cowlick. His hair tapers high on his neck,
       outlines his ear, in the current fashion;
       curly bob gives away the date (barely ’20s).

His mouth grazes her private hair; lips apart, he
       keeps his tongue to himself.

He’s serious: if he were wearing clothes, and she were
       with pipes, he’d be a plumber’s assistant—inspecting, 
       studious, intent; 
                                 nothing erotic in his look, hardly 
       aroused at all (a little hard to tell, of course, 
       from behind).

Flat on her back, on the dark, fringed spread, gravity 
        flattening her breasts, she looks

        uncomfortable, but not unhappy. Her eyes 
        check out the camera. Her lips are sealed, yet—

        isn’t there? —a trace of smile 
        playing around the edges . . .

She stretches out an arm to him, places her palm 
        flat on his head—guiding him so lightly, she

        might be blessing him.