Looking for Lines

This building at the southeast corner of Pennsylvania 

and Ohio Streets, is actually pretty boring 

to look at. The architects broke up the flat, gray expanse 

of windows and granite with a pattern that, 

for all intents, could be a tartan -- or a window pane plaid.

I've taken plenty of pictures of it in the past, mostly to show 

the melty reflections in its windows made by 

the sunrise or sunset. This time, I tried to show some

of the lines and angles that make up  its exterior.

Looking for lines is what I do, I guess, whether

it's taking pictures or trying to find the words

to put with them. In fact, I was in the coffee shop

opposite this building when words occurred to me,

words for which I need a picture. I haven't found it yet.

There's no accounting for the pleasure

just looking at you brings me.

Your broad shoulders and strong hands

speak of the power to protect and

of a thousand tender caresses.

You watch the younger women with

taut, firm bodies and curves,

inviting you to explore their secrets.

I am older, with secrets of my own to give,

shrouded in a body worn by the years,

and pale skin showing the map

to my heart. 

This heart, whose beat is strong and low,

quietly stoking a constant fire

that feeds a secret of its own --

that I love you.