Women draped across beds
with Pavlovian puppy eyes
limbs every which way, perhaps a fray
without a starting lie
Whispers across the ceiling
between flicks of a camera's spittle
no men admitted, we must not have
seduction, at acquittal
Foreign models wanted
for barely there filigree
bikini gloss, in a ring toss
bend-overs entirely free
Later men in bathrooms linger
too long over sticky pages
trying to fit the woman back in
to the anorexic aegis
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting one - glossy mags show it all! !