Here
my left eye dilates
blinks in millisecond snapshots
at your cut of pelvic bone
suddenly magnified to perfection.
Light brown hair interspersed
in the ridges of your skin
is more than Sunday Church to me.
Though I suspect my devout wife
feigns strolling out the door,
stiff Bible in hand,
then sneaks through
the polaroid keyhole
to watch me watch you
and feel strangely in communion.