Roused from his torpor, on a set of sand
And potted jungle plants - the pots by hand
Buried in that sand - Johnny's torso
Rose, in expectation, although more so
As to see what they who viewed him wanted
From that body, so wondrously vaunted.
"Weissmüller! Be wise". A quick scan over
Caught at a glance, what was a sad bother
Of mounds of flesh, someone might wrongly guess
To be excess of belly. Oh, confess!
His drinking might be more under control.
But in truth, that mound is no fatty roll.
Still, Cecil caught it in a questing lens ...
And ... Cecil knew how of male nudes how tense
The skin might need be to capture beauty -
Or sexual appeal. Johnny's duty
Since swimming into the gaze of queer men
Was to stretch that flesh - perhaps a jot then
To strengthen that appeal. Lay back- John, lad
Accepting adoration is not that bad
From Cecil.
Beat him to the luscious thought
Of what a lovely guy laid back as though bought
Into a dream where the viewer's desire
Is the motive force that will set on fire
Any jungle wilds it thinks it sees conceal
An invite to love or lust. Make a meal
Of that loincloth, raise knees, lower that head
Soften those eyes till they make a soft bed
For wanton senses to make haptic play.
After all, make space so that another day
Cecil will regret he was not the man
To fit into it.This was Johnny's plan.
The photographs from 1932 of Weissmüller are from those made by Cecil Beaton as a Vogue photographer.
My love
Steven xxxxxxx
Steve_Bamlett_blog 