he says he loves my tree trunk legs
wrapped hard
around
as he plunges
into dark forest
wet
drawn in to
depths not touched
before
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
taut
and then some
like a sausage
bursting
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
fulfillment
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
fluttering
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
mirth
and lie
exhausted inventing poems
only pulling
away to write them down -
Wild Poet
Woman
he says
© 2019 pamela twining
