Stupid Girls

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


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I pour myself all over you, like soft butter, thick, warm.

I surround you, soothe every place that's hurting, whether you know it or not.

I still you, warm you,  as you sink into restfulness.

Your voice drums in my chest and I breathe you in.

You charm me to my toes, which wiggle and burrow between your ankles, twining your legs with mine.

I happily push my tummy and lap into your round, warm bottom and a giggle escapes me, someplace behind your ear.

I pin your arms to my breasts, as my arm strokes your belly.

My other hand tangles curls in my fingers and tugs.

I could drift for hours in our breathing, shifting, sighs and murmurs.

We are warm, woman animals, basking in our kinship.

Subtle, unconscious, following ancient, wordless rhythms,  I begin to rock you.

I rock you and my whole body condenses around you, grips you, pulls you toward my solar plexus, protects and contains you.

I rock you and feel your muscles liquify, your body puddling into mine, as you slip into sleep.

I bury my face in your shoulder blades, inhale deeply and allow a single sound of surprise escape my mouth, into your back, as I feel the wanting release in fluid satiation.

That gently, that insistingly, by primordial tilting of hip, I am gratified by holding you.

I hold you firmly, pulled in to my center, so you will sleep.

My body contains yours.

They become best friends.

My own throbbing lulls me to sleep.