The Male Gaze:
M40, Stokenchurch




The chalk that rolls above the Oxford plain,
its swell and cleave, the way it holds its heart,
is womanly. You’d press your hand against
her spine. Or let it slap upon her arse.
 
Rude, and lovely, how a gentle line
insinuates and bends into her shape.
And how her shape disturbs in you a kind
of undertow, an urge to mould and make.
 
Was that what urged the knife to make this cut
and draw it brazen as you took her arm?
Your self-belief astonishes. Her trust.
Call it courage, arrogance or charm.

Joe Crocker

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Joe Crocker would be pleased to hear them