Not a Pervert but not a Poet either

She merely has the face of a model
and the body of God
the enterprise of happiness
has tacked a smile
on her whereabouts
and posed a
lightness
on her wandering feet

the muse
entreats
to cut in
on her
dance
with the wind
and the sea
but she
denies

and tells the stranger from a faraway land how she had toppled the Colossus of Rhodes with a glance
a very long time ago
for she does not
turn you to stone
she turns you to putty

You see,
I am not a poet
nor a pervert
just a guy
from
where hell
is supposed to
be
staring
off into a dusty sea
and forgetting
the decency
of silence

and unable to
find ugliness
in the world

I cry out
beauty