Admissions

Prose with line breaks.

Then there is the side of me
I only rarely have the opportunity to indulge,
when a slow cha-cha smolders
and a good tango becomes indistinguishable from foreplay,
when hands in intimacy explore
my favorite form of art, the alabaster,
tawny-gold of skin and the shadows
cast by a skirt as it rises,
my hands on her thighs.
That deserves the attention of art as well, a canvas painted in kisses,
massaged deep into the places usually no one but a lover knows.

For me, a woman is the best beauty,

the most fascinating art.

A hands-on approach is best.

A man should know his lover

the way I imagine Michelangelo knew his works

or a blind man knows his  world.

Something akin to worship.

As Sean from the show Psych says,

“Treat her first like a person, then like a princess,
then like a Greek goddess, then like a person again.”

Still, I am no Don Juan, nor Casanova.

I prefer the idea that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery

and would prefer to spend all those hours on the same woman,

given the chance.