Still Matching

We both have flabs of fat, you and I

wrinkles of age, marks of youth, unsightly hairs.

This does not matter.

I hold your dappled buttock as if ripe fruit

caress your thigh as if satin or silk

You roll over my inverted nipples as if I am regular

swim through my chest as if a glass pond.

We shall not be ashamed. Let us linger in all we are.

You cling to me here. I bury myself in your graying hair.

I delight in your full, sagging breasts, your overhangs.

You celebrate my balding head, my old age mutterings.

Folds and flabs, curves still matching.

3/7

(Published in Breadcrumb Scabs, Issue 24, December 2010)