*For a woman who does not see that her body is beautiful*
It is raining. Not a hard steady downpour or a romantic pitter-patter.
It is that foggy drizzle that clings to the skin like cobwebs. The sky is dim and murky, like cloudy steel that will fall down to earth one shocking moment.
Stripping out of your damp and sticky clothes, wiping yourself dry with a soft blue towel, the irritation remains. Dislike settles over you, as your eyes close upon tears.
Unhappy. Unsatisfied, critical. Of your body, the marvelous vehicle that belongs solely to you.
*
He comes in and calls your name, his footsteps a familiar tattoo on the floor.
Hurriedly, you arrange your face and body in welcoming lines. Yet your eyes cannot so easily throw up a mirage.
Kneeling next to you, he asks what us wrong. you don’t talk–the tears pooling off your lashes speak of what you cannot move your lips to say.
He makes the sounds of comfort. But it is his hands that calm you.
**
His hands in your hair. Fingers running across your face, down your neck.
Palms across your shoulders, gripping your anxiety and pulling it out.
His lips following, as his hands curve around to your breasts and trail own you stomach, to your thighs.
His lips now giving way to his tongue, as he massages you calves and feet.
Turning over at his command, your face burning, because he is nibbling behind your knees and moaning softly.
His mouth marching up your thighs to your ass. Where he lingers.
Plays, wallows. A place you loathe is his island paradise.
Sliding up, nestling against the curves of you, his breath skips up your spine, inch by inch.
His face, his lips right next to your ear. Whispering how lovely, how delicious, how beautiful your body is.
How it excites him, terrifies him, pulls his inexplicably towards your bed again and again.
***
Pressing his lips against your closed eyelids, he pushes your thighs apart and runs his fingers across your shaven cleft, your clit awakening and peeping out.
Giving in to the motion of his hands. The shadows of your form materialize and become solid for you. You have felt separated, disjointed, ungainly.
He always saw you and thought Venus was visiting the earth, looking to grace him with her love.
As his fingers move faster and faster, you gain weight and space in your head. Instead of shadow and dark, you see joy and light.
The body that you were ashamed of becomes your crown. The gift that gives pleasure.
There in your bed, under that dark, heavy soon-to-fall sky, you are collected into one shining gorgeous piece.
