He watches me while I remove
what little make-up I wear; I
slide out of tummy support panties
and unhook my bra.
I smile- I like the way
my breasts relax, rounded out
against the sides like dough,
inviting hands to knead.
I drape myself in pale splashes
of daisies. I am godess.
His growing urgency tells me
I'm pretty. I smile slightly
with lips he's kissed almost forever.
I walk to him, a ritual sashay
across the room. He's transfixed.
The flowers dance and he watches
petals sway against my sugar-baby skin.
His eyes wander to my firm, full thighs.
He wants to touch; my gaze
says not yet.
I pull off my beaded hair band
and a sultry free fall of raisin
and henna locks splay across
my broad shoulders.
He pulls me close and holds me tight.
I feel wise and blessed not ancient.
He loves me more each new gray,
each new line. Years like rings-
bind, never ending.
*This week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings is aging. I wrote this a few years ago because I wanted something that was closer to what I was experiencing in my my middle years and my belief in loving in my later years. Visit readwritepoem for 'get your poem on' and one single impression is a cool place for poetry as well. Okay, I'm really getting mileage out of this single piece today, but the truth is, it frees up time for me to blog hop and comment to your work. Hope you check out my friends.