Thursday, June 20, 2019

He Says

he says he loves my tree trunk legs
wrapped hard around
as he plunges into dark forest
drawn in to depths not touched
his sinuous glide his questing tongue
his thirst for the lost streambed
the fragrant place to spend unending night

he says he loves my stretch-marked belly
round with aftermath of births
striations bold and white against tanned skin
elastic youth surrendered
and then some like a sausage
from its casing spilling life
for spirit’s eventual delectation

he says he loves my fallen breasts
no pert and innocent globes of light
attracting men of any age like moths
to flame
but redolent of milk-days past
sustenance taken and supplicants gone
the world opened out to their glowing futures
source depleted but hungry still
his impatient lips demand/provide

he says he loves my wilting neck
tall column still proud but flagging
skin obeying planetary laws
and heading south
his eyes still drawn above
to the smile he’s always cherished
diamond flashing -
pretty girl
he says

he says he loves my grey-streaked hair
decades long
he loves it long to bury hands in
to breathe in to inhale
soft like feathers to trail across his skin
there/not there as fleet as life
skimming across the surface of his mind
like memory

he says he loves the way I laugh
in orgasm
not threatened as some have said
to Joy in that expression
and lie exhausted inventing poems
only pulling away to write them down -
Wild Poet Woman
he says

© 2019 pamela twining