A Summer Morning, Sydney.(Poem)

 
A SUMMER MORNING, SYDNEY 
 
   Opening the bathroom window, 
   I can see 
   across the alleyway, 
   secretly, 
 
   this young woman 
   on the edge of her bed. 
   Like a stretch of sand 
   damply bared 
 
   by flourishing foam, 
   when the towel withdraws 
   beauty breathes 
   through her million pores. 
 
   Shoulders and neck, buttocks and back 
   are defined: 
   Le Violon d'Ingres 
   in outline, 
 
   lightly finished 
   by the brush of the sun, 
   and dusted with freckles 
   like cinnamon. 
 
   I know to turn away, 
   and yet I stare 
   on a scene as ordinary 
   as it ...