by Dennis Paul Wilken

When I hear the word nude
I never think of men
And their hairy asses,
Big feet
Splayed by neglect
Drooling with lust
Following their little penises around
Like trained seals

I think of women
Their more delicate features--
Even those girls who hate
The word "girls"
And wish to meanly,
Bad haircuts a badge of cuteness
Despite their worst intentions;

When I hear the word nude
I see nipples in my minds eye
And the infinite variety of bush
I, a spiritual man,
Wish to see (and touch),
Hot as Moses burning namesake;

I never think of men
When I hear the word nude
Although I have high hopes for the one
Special guy I know intimately--
He looks great nude,
But he's the
Only one.

Dennis P. Wilken is a veteran journalist and former writer for Cincinnati Magazine. Most recently his poetry has appeared in Word Riot, Madswirl and his editorials in Pacific Publishing publications. His last chapbook, Sweat Off the Diamond, was published in 2009. He lives in Seattle, Washington where he is a Contributing Editor at Commonline.