It is being naked in front of you
that makes me worry that you will laugh,
that you will misinterpret my words,
to the point of agony
or worse, see them as a reflection
of a dusty one sided mirror, engraved ornately
but still something to raise an eyebrow over,
perhaps even mock the attempt
of a strange tongues to which a man
who embraces oddness is bound.
I would rather appear naked in front of you,
for laughter is good for the soul,
I would rather stand, being gazed upon
with withering looks, the type a woman
of classical stock would give to a naughty
playful puppy who has left a message
of hope on the expensive rug, my nose,
though not cold, now warm to the touch
as it is shoved into the dirt, the smell you say,
is rank and I deserve my face erased away;
I would rather be naked, warts and all,
hands cupped, stiff with cold, than be
naked infront of you, hands open…
But naked is as naked does
And I offer my soul to you.
Ian D. Hall 2016