erotic poem

this is the arsenal
as a naked man i go
i saw him once before
in and of itself
and how could you dream of meeting
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
still thirteen years
why are the things that have no death
one by one, like leaves from a tree
tell me less or tell me more
to come so soon to this imagined dark
up from the meadows rich with corn
she limps with halting painful pace