Happy Belated Valentine's Day! I always celebrate when trees grow together, like these Madrones.
Foreplay, Year Eight
It takes us a while sometimes,
there are the kids to talk about,
the mortgage due,
damned games like Words with Friends
on our cell phones.
Us becoming one of those couples.
Sometimes there are places other than genitalia,
that demand exploring,
Bendy places in me and Hollow places in you.
Like the other night when I was on top of you
and suddenly seized with shame.
Eight years in foreplay looks like healing.
I am shy sometimes and afraid often.
But wasn’t recently when I felt sexy
and took off my top while cooking dinner.
I pushed out my tummy and showed you.
You said I was sexy
but also “we should lose weight.”
It took me a week to tell you that hurt.
it took me going numb while laying on you.
Eight years in, foreplay sounds like laughter,
like ours when I told you in a mock deep voice,
tell me to get my ass to the bathroom
and wash up because you want to make love to me.
Eight years in foreplay is patterns
and assumptions and routines and regularity.
It is me knowing if I want it, I just need
to turn away from you and press into you
and twitch my bottom like a randy baboon.
Foreplay eight years in is occasionally
wanting you to rub me slowly, differently.
Sometimes it is not asking
and loving what you are offering,
trusting you know what I like.
Sometimes I work up the courage to ask you.
Foreplay eight years in,
is often you knowing me so well,
I don’t have to ask.