I’ll name every love he has:
Her eyes he loves to peer into—
Her eyes are one of his greatest loves,
Deep in those eyes he forgets all.
No one is wise
Who does not count, as one of his greatest loves, her eyes.
And down he looks into them because he is tall.
Her shoulders are great, great loves of his
And he can almost remember he went to divine love, from anxious care,
When he first saw those shoulders, bare,
And gently put his hands on them, prior to moving towards her for a kiss.
He loves her shoulders almost as much as he
Loves her eyes, and he loves to hold her shoulders tenderly.
Her waist is one of his greatest loves, and he loves
Her waist for where it is, and how it looks and feels, and how it moves.
There is no doubt her waist is one of his greatest loves.
He loves the way his kissing face around her waist moves,
A kissing orbit attached to the flesh, an orbit slow, slow, because it loves.
And when he loves her waist, he also loves her legs,
And feet, but I must stop—love that talks too much is love that begs,
And description waxes to death, and even breath that breathes, in love, must have a pause, as
Alive to love, craving love, a slave to love, I name every love he has.