Animus the Greek
In Athens’ heart, where ancients roamed,
A figure stark, in culture honed.
His scalp as smooth as marble sheen,
His gaze is deep but not serene.
His pose exudes erotic grace,
Each muscle carved in perfect place.
Well-hung and tanned, a work of art,
While age has etched its quiet mark.
In daylight’s glare or moon’s obscene,
He stands erect, both fat and lean.
The hard resolve within his eyes,
A stoic front and sagging ass.
A blend of sin and saint combined,
In naked form, his truth we find.
His skin’s a parchment, history penned,
A Grecian tale that knows no end.
