No one tells you your arms are the Euphrates, or that your long legs are the work of a clever devil & a blaspemy I have grown to crave. No one mentions how your skin distracts & how your clothes take on new life every time you stand up, & the sun makes riddles of your thighs. No one says your eyes are a lost mile of treason, or that your lips trespass like pirates between the sheets & make sleep a forgotten god. & No one reminds you that the shape your voice takes when dawn stretches the sky, sends my reason fleeing like a thief.