On voyeurism

Boys will be boys.

Boys will be men.

Men will be the eyes

between the slight parting of satin curtains,

just in line with 150 pounds of flesh.

Flesh will be examining itself,

tracing the

curves

lines

blackened bruises

etched designs

Flesh will be grabbing

at its jiggling pieces

Ripping them off

Pulling them back

Stuffing them somewhere else

Flesh will be smoothed,

refined and then,

maybe

it will slowly

more lovingly

begin touching itself

For the eyes between the curtains

eyes behind the mirrors

eyes inside the skull

perpetual voyeurs