Wounded

To love me, is to love the complete me

The once butter soft skin, now wrinkled

With lines like crowfeet marking the happy days

The hairs, now grey, that felt soft ever so black 

Upon your chest as I lay asleep with a smile 

Reminiscing bliss

My lips not so supple anymore,

The breasts narrate the story of nurturing.

Yet when I bathe, I like the way the water trickles

Past my physical form and defines my soul!

How I still like being vulnerable to the touch 

I yearn and still hide within my crevasses 

The desires so strong!

The musk so strong, laden with sweat

And forgetfulness now punctuates 

Every corner of me. 

And then stands the man who loves to be loved.

To kiss without thinking, and to feel the strength

Of his muscles as much as his will against my skin.

To feel fragile and melt in love.

But he’ll never know.

Never know that his strength were born out of me

His peace attached like the umbilicals still...

Was it time to snip?