A poem by Brian Evans-Jones

  Models Here is a man, in a photograph naked. I do not know him; nonetheless I admire and praise his flesh. Wide shoulders. Smooth, cool biceps. His hint of power held diffidently, but certainly held. The soft worm of the penis, sleeping. His black hair. Coupled thighs. All this I admire: he is, above all, very much himself. Somewhere there may be a woman, … Continue reading A poem by Brian Evans-Jones