She smiles with her eyes when I say the things that only I seem to come up with.
She is a woman identified woman who sees sex as a wonderful gift from the Goddess.
She knows that some poetry read aloud is foreplay and recites love and lust poems AND knows the difference, using that understanding to stimulate my body, my mind, my soul.
She can slow dance to any song sung or played when and if the moment’s right in a any time and any place leading me to an Eden far away without physically going anywhere.
When it comes to music, she feels it and can become it.
She nurtures the beat my blood pumps to and the lyrics my lungs silently support. She loves to touch and be touched.
She sees the person I want to be, the person I am and the person I was.
She knows me better than I know myself but never says so.
She leads me down rainbow flowered paths with words whispered where we share stolen glances. She never asks nor demands that I follow.
She’s angry when she’s angry, cries when salt needs to be released, and laughs out loud.
She not only loves the sound of children playing but won’t hesitate to play with them if time and place allows.
Her smell encourages sweet, sensual thoughts of brown skin touching brown skin, energies softly caressing each other taking me to other worlds where words flow from mind to fingertips to paper.
She colors my world in lavender and green hues of honesty laced with honey yellow sincerity and deep midnight blue smiles.
She knows when to caress my ego causing me to purr. She knows when to slap my ego causing me to reevaluate.
She steps to me in all ways straight forward, checking me with respect. She allows me to soar, to be outrageous, to dream, to wish, to be.
She pulls me in when the Universe’s wind is too much for the sensitive, intuitive, woman lovin’ woman she feels, not just knows I am.
EAVES 2003
