Dream of Nakedness

I was handsome, I was strong,
I knew the words of every song.
Did my singing please you?
The words you sang were wrong.
-Leonard Cohen.

I dream of nakedness, of stories
sung at podiums
without benefit of tailors.

My song drawing eyes
from between my legs
to stubbled lips
turning to pastel.

I must use caution.

The musk from my crotch
still pervades, still catches
nostrils incapable of twitching,

reminds all:
my song
could be wrong.

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