Cracked Crystal Ball

Cracked Crystal Ball.

Basque and stocking clasp asleep.
Not dead I hope, just still.
That silken angled thigh repeats,
Warholesque my will.

In capture of the telling tease.
Stiletto, nipple, room.
The rampant eye might steal with ease,
and gleefully assume.

Peruse, the cracks and wisps and dents.
The heave the place the time.
Before and afters came and went’
with kiss and suck refined.

That cream of flesh;
resplendent mound, of languor never lost.
Arouses still without a sound.
The image still accosts.

That’s all is mine, its all I claim
Upon the whitewashed wall
Where love gave hopes, and lust and fame
from my cracked crystal ball.