where do the eyes go?

they go to follow lines 
without arrows, those curved 
continuities of femininity 
disrobed-- they go coolly
upon calf relaxed and upraised
hand and travel nervelessly
over form to wordlessly linger 
as they warm upon function-- 
the cunt and the tit trap
and the world-- it burns
in the paroxysm of orgasm
in its presque vu revelation--
all is known, nothing fact.