C. P. Cavafy
He came to read. Two or three books
lie open: historians and poets.
But he read for just ten minutes and
gave up. He drowses on the couch.
He is utterly devoted to books –
but he is twenty-three years old, and he’s very handsome.
And this afternoon love spread
through his perfect flesh, his lips.
Through his flesh, so full of beauty,
spread the erotic glow,
spared any silly shame for the pleasure’s form.