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Poetry



From a desire to feel the soft
cool
moist
firm flesh
encountering mine
eyes softly open
or not
Became
a duty
a habit
was automatic
Now intentionally sensing again… 




Wide open
Dark, brown, pools, beautifully emitting warmth
Inviting others to share their stories
Stories that come from long ago before I was born
Intense and raw
Some old sorrows, always understanding
Brown newness like sweet delectable little smarties with the candy part devoured
Melting in
Your mouth like the mounting desire that fills me when I try to keep a lid on it
Control it
Mud holes that call me in the spring and keep me there, sinking until my dad can pull me out to the safety of his arms and gently set me in the warmth of my bed with my quilt tucked ‘round me that grandma made
I love that they are brown and that they are hers.