Classic Poem

A young man, crouching, ties his shoelaces.
Back turned this way, his nape, how gentle.
The slowly moving two lumps of flesh on the shoulders
And two knees at both sides of his waist are fresh and round
(The male nipples pressed against his knees are peach-colored).
The reticent young animal's untainted straight gaze
Stays on the movements of his fingers tying shoelaces
But the moving fingers themselves are tranced, dreaming
Of the time they'll play with the gentle Eros, rolled in thin skin,
Dozing in a soft grassbush pregnant with light,
A little above the movements of the fingers tying shoelaces,
Below the pliant belly like that of a starved young wolf.
The young man rises and, in his lace boots, nude,
Begins to walk, keeps walking, soon grows old.
The man grown old tightens his face and never turns to look
But behind the man grown old, many times does the young man crouch,
Tie his shoelaces, rise, and begin to walk