Today I did my own thing in terms of prompts. I modeled this poem after a poem written by Natalie Goldberg, hers is titled 'Wanting Men.'
I fear their soft palms,
a magic-trick their skin
pulls across your naked eye.
I love the measure of mystery
they force upon you by the sweet
smell of cologne not meant for femininity.
I believe such women are Goddesses
and I long to have them teach me
of their ancient Kama Sutras.
I want women with short hair,
I want to prick my fingertips
of their style, dip my fingertips
into the essence of what it
means to be a woman.
I want to ride the smooth
skin of their thick thighs
toward the barren stretch
of an open-star sky,
the total absence of inhibition
as they lather my skin of their love.
How I love the way their thick,
lank bodies fill a mens pair of jeans,
how they blink in deep sleep, and smile.
I love the way my girl
chews the edges of her tongue
while sleeping and I wonder
if she's tasting me.
I love how she raises her
cushion-pillow lips across
her teeth, a ruby-curtain smile
that melts the clay between my ribcage.
Her body, a magic lotus flower,
how she rises above me,
hip against hip, my woman warrior.
I love the way she drives us
into night, reimagining some
eternal childhood flaw, headlights
two steady stars we follow into oblivion,
wheels swerving dangerously toward
out-dated bell-curves, reckless on caffeine
and it terrible need of sleep.