It is being naked in front of you

that makes me worry that you will laugh,

that you will misinterpret my words,

to the point of agony

or worse, see them as a reflection

of a dusty one sided mirror, engraved ornately

but still something to raise an eyebrow over,

perhaps even mock the attempt

of a strange tongues to which a man

who embraces oddness is bound.

 

I would rather appear naked in front of you,

for laughter is good for the soul,

I would rather stand, being gazed upon

with withering looks, the type a woman

of classical stock would give to a naughty

playful puppy who has left a message

of hope on the expensive rug, my nose,

though not cold, now warm to the touch

as it is shoved into the dirt, the smell you say,

is rank and I deserve my face erased away;

I would rather be naked, warts and all,

hands cupped, stiff with cold, than be

naked infront of you, hands open…

 

But naked is as naked does

And I offer my soul to you.

Ian D. Hall 2016