Staring at that gold
seam up her ass,
stitched on that fathomless
blue that takes my eyes
as deep as a lover—
I find my way
in that blue night
by such luminous constellations
and that of the shining
rivets on her back pockets.
Five decades, my eyes
have strained
to de-magnetize themselves,
but every time, a Columbus
rises up within me and tries again
to peer around the geometry-defying
horizon of that curve,
to a new world,
or through it,
to some infinite depth.
The voice of reason
simply has no case,
once the actual body
of desire bursts into the room
and everyone else inside me
stampedes to see her,
that dark, voluptuous,
illumined sky, and who knows,
perhaps the night sky itself
is really a great, jeaned woman?
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/10-blue-jeans-and-men-s-eyes/
