Growing up
he was familiar with the tale
of the princess and the pea
and the thirty snow white mattresses
stuffed to bust with the down
of thirty thousand fowl.
The tale of the woman in the tower
whose skin was white as snow
for having side stepped the sun
and her thirteen hundred lances
of burning radiation
and whose hair grew
three braids of pure gold
shining as bright
for lack of humbling competition.
The tale of the forbidden door
and the key,
bloodstained in the right sort of daylight,
and the woman whose eyes
could only see curiosity's simplicity
and the best intent
of the worst man could offer
in long and sideways looks.
Growing up he was
familiar with all of these
and more.
Against a bed of black velvet
to watch her twinkling,
and unsprung,
and every which way
severed,
the sex
was a watch maker's dream.
