WonderBra Woman

With that bra, those

well-concealing Spanx, you

hide yourself from the world,

and from me when you

prefer the dark, flinch so when I

reach for the light, though

all I wish is to

revel in you as woman, with

all your imperfections.

Shirt

My hair will never be as

lustrous as yours; my skin

will always be rough wool

against your silk; mornings

I will always look half-dead, you

more than half-alive and,

otherwise naked, you will

always look better in my shirt than

I ever could.

Provoke

Naked is just as I found you, in

nothing else but air, with that

innocent smile intended to

provoke.

Seventh Veil

When she reached the Seventh Veil,

knowing how to make a

pause pregnant, she merely

swayed to unheard music, rising on the

balls of her bare feet, her

navel jewel catching the light, her

hands pirouetting above her head,

drawing his eyes to her

tautened tits, then a

slow glissando, a

shush of skirt on skin,

naked silence.

(Inspiration and gorgeous image by kind permission of  http://holden-and-camille.com/ with many thanks!)

Rubicon Illustrated

That strange taste haunted her throughout the
long school day, despite her initial
revulsion—just a hint behind the
toothpaste and breakfast, the shivery
ghost of an experience she knew had
carried her across a deep invisible
Rubicon into a strange land open to
conquest:  the land of Men, in which
bizarrely the young woman on her knees could
exercise such unexpected power.


Image courtesy of Holden and Camille (http://holden-and-camille.com/) with their express permission, and please respect their copyright in this wonderful image. My enormous thanks to both of them :)

Nightdress

Her sage-green nightdress

sways on the washing-line

as though she were within it,

dancing in that “I

don’t care” attitude, that

subtle bump of rhythm that says

Come Hither,

Go Yon.

Want me?

Find me.

Hands

Tied tight in the ambiguities of
marriage and children, I find myself
hankering for those days of
uncertain kisses,
whispered words, the
instinct of hands.

Lipstick

She dressed with care, thinking

what to hide, what to reveal, what

height of heel was

suitable for the situation,

how much her

eyes needed camouflage, how much

lipstick would cover the cracks,

knowing that love

kisses bare-mouthed.

Calmer Sutra

The house clicks and creaks as things

warm or cool, just like our

old bones crack and growl like

icebergs calving as we try to

contort our recalcitrant bodies into

The Beast with Two Bad Backs.

Redden

She reddens as

she ripens, like a

fruit or flower

about to burst into

sudden splendour.

Gender Fender Bender

Our cars kissed bumpers

and in my rear-view mirror  you

looked like a boy, banging your

shorn head on the steering wheel, and you

looked like a boy when you

wrenched open my door to rant that I’d

stopped too quickly, all sweatshirt,

torn jeans and attitude, and you

certainly fucked like a boy in that

convenient motel, your aggression

taking me aback as you took me,

rode me, swallowed me, so that

it was only when your contented breath

ruffled my chest hair that your

girlness seeped out as you slept.

Five-Finger Exercise

Your fingers are five ghosts

playing my spine like a piano

each finger a sense

each sense afire as they

coalesce at my nape to

pull my mouth to yours.

Sweet and Sour

Teach me all your sweet and

sour words of love, those

tongue-twisting lyrics of lust which you

mouth slowly, carefully, as if my

glottis were a three-year-old;

giggle uncontrollably when I

mispronounce; pounce, your

organ-stop nipples gouging my chest as you

attack my ear to

whisper hotly all that those

sinuous syllables symbolise.

Coccyx II

I’ll bet you are kneading your

tiny breasts, teasing, twisting your

taut nipples as your weight

settles on my shoulders, your

wet core seeking the

dry ground of my vertebrae, slowly

slithering down my spine until the

nub of your clit rubs the

stub of my tail.

Bed Head

A poem inspired by this post by the adorable Lady Pandorah

http://ladypandorah.com/2013/11/10/good-morning-sunshine/

To the world you are immaculate:

clothes chic, unique; jewellery

just so, no more; make-up

merely defining what is

already there; and that

wonderful hair so

carefully coiffed—the

touchstone of your public self.

So I am blessed to see that hair so

beautifully dishevelled as your

flushed face emerges from the

rucked sheets, a sly smile on your

sweaty face, a faint

trickle of my pleasure

serving as lipstick.

Just Wipe the Mirror

The bathroom fills with steam

as your hands absently soap your body,

taking inventory : fat ass, flabby belly,

no tits, stubble.

But what if I were there with you,

pressing the evidence of my ardour into

your welcoming ass, caressing your

tightening belly, your incipient tits,

unaware of stubble in my urgent

lift of you out of the shower,

feet splayed on wet floor as I

bend you forward to penetrate,

urging you to see how beautiful you are by

just wiping the mirror.