Presage Massage

Time To Move
said she, to no
One in particular
until i re
alized i was the
only
other One there 

I’m sorry?
said i, barely glance
ing up from the bed
but caught
none the less in her
clear and certain
gaze 

Time To Move
repeated she, this
time with a soft,
less certain
smile 

She is a small
woman.  Truly
petite.  Whose henna
red hair and fashion
funk spectacles seem
somehow
              sincerely
She.

Banked down with
in that tiny form, 
volcanic stores of
energy and life, of
patience and love
                           (yes)
love,
bubble to caramel
creme
in hands so soft, so
warm, so strong, that
                                       no
thing can withstand
them, that
                     every
thing hard or
tight or tough or
wrong, just
melts
         simply
melts
beneathe her touch. 

Time To Move,
said a third
time now,  It was
given me for 
                          You. 

Oh, said i.  Oh. 

Does it mean any
thing? asked she,To
you? Does it mean any
thing at all, to 
     
                      You? 

i met her gaze
i met her smile 

I see, said she.
You do, said i. 

and she did
                 (oh, yes)
did she 

 © s rogers 5 february 2011, all rights reserved

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