Some Untitled Poetry

 

One hand on her thigh 

the other on her stomach, 

soft, white, comforting 

as if opening a treasure 

which will come spilling out  

in wordless prayer 

first soft 

then 

not so soft 

 

One hand on her thigh 

the other on her stomach 

I push away 

and into 

and watch her body fall into a song 

that only she can hear 

but I listen 

just the same

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