So much is captured in the entwined embrace of fingers
on top of the casual folds of the morning paper. Invading
sunlight attempts to compete for attention and beauty,
enveloping her hand dangling along her inner thigh, caressing
her womb, wrapping the length of her thigh, rejoicing with
an unapologetic knee. The light tickles his fingers too,
celebrating his knuckles, but the light can't enter into her soft,
dark places. The embrace says that he's been there to
celebrate those secrets with her. He may not be invited back,
but that decision will wait until the sunlight gives up the fight.
She's not concerned about the cold edgy table. Her soft hamstrings
aren't so soft after all. There is strength in those legs, strength in
her belly, her fingers, her ease. His hands bow to her power in detail:
the elegance of those dark places, the casual simplicity of her hand
on her thigh. She know the sun won't relinquish it's blanket, nor will
he be the one to untangle fingers.
2/5/10
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