The girls are out, showing a little skin.

Lunar thighs, pelagic chests, deciduous
eyes. All of it that fragile intimate hue.

And their slow, assiduous
smiles. All of it humming,

I am exposed
I am new.

The old and wizened winter voyeurs
gulp their cormorant fill. The lupine

souls of men alar on a fine, supine
wind; even the gluttonous sun rapacious.

Ah yes, ah, yes, emerges a salacious
groan from the universal suburban home.

Let the exodus begin.