I am disappointed when
My thighs resemble dough
From lassitude or the dreaming void
I know not
While others jog I find ways to hide, and years bring encroachment
I am disappointed when stretchmarks form and breasts once firm and fine, fall
As if the hour, prescriptive written, perforation, was
all along a trembling, inken fate
Only in your arms
away from dull gaze of waxen youth
yet to taste harsh glare of life
Still blunt in their unlidded perfection
Was I ever so?
Only in you, I find solace to unburden these stored shames
Bidden me by my role as woman
The unkind hand, who beckons us close to fire
That we may touch a moment of glory
Then slow descent to nowhere visible
In my head of aches, I hear the cacophony of iteration
Women over a certain age
Sexless, sagging beasts of burden
We laugh over my fears
Our respective flaws, rubbing each other
Tenderizing that, which believed itself perished
And was alive
Beneath its rebuke
And when you bring me out of my shell
To kneel to the sun god, without need for apology
I see not those things
Or the artificial glide of time
But feel
Feel your fingers
Deep in my belly
Sense your mouth
Folding bliss in her eternal recline
Taste the syrup of us, in the temple
Then
I am disappointed no more
A fire bird loose in my body
Such pleasures, no child can find
We lift together, in our mutual ecstasy
Emboldened by the dream to be free of chains
Two of us
Released from the grip of words
Threshing at the gate, with the symphony of a female’s sex
Greater than anything that can be crushed
Our fever, mighty in her conquer
We cry as one, our voice raw with awakening
For to be pleasure, is to know
The Gods
No you do not own this moment
Bashful world
For we have transcended the hand of man
We
Who are
Woman
Claim
Our
Sex
TheFeatheredSleep 