the shape of her dress

[schamaunji3]

there is something scandalous about all of this
the way that nature lifts her frilly skirts,
the way she slowly surrenders each layer,
and she bears her deepest and most secret self.

the mind cannot take it in:
every turn and every drop
every salubrious-seething, vague and heaving
every glistening-glowing-growing- draw
every breath lost at the shock
of every climax at the spot

that nature lifts her golden frock
to divulge that unseen and so often
forgotten truth which hides within it all
but which is never lost