He Says

 
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