NUDES

When I surprised
a woman showering,
sorry towelling
her hair, I did not see
the full beaver
only its tail, say,
peeping through
her modest fingers,
the coyness transfigured
to a nervous smile.


Here, before the mirror,
the shame returns
in rolls of hairy flesh
that falls and folds
about the hips and ankles
like a towel, dropped
in a communal shower
at a swimming pool, say,


his body, younger,
leaner, firmer,
turned to catch it,
caught instead 
my eyes, snagged
on the tip of his prick,
erect. Flushing red,
I swear, he lingered,
showering in my gaze,
before he lifted the towel
and hid it away.