Lamatrice

The oil smelled lightly of chamomile in your cupped hand a tinge of coconut butter
Slither and softer on my naked belly there I lead your hand to touch to rub gently
Carefully start slow where I lie where I can see your face your naked chest calmly
Firmly round and round to calm my stomach and my womb that wondrous dome
Home not with child but with something else some things strange unknown yet
Let it feel the comfort of your presence the soothing motion of your warm hand
Command the demons of this uterine virgin to leave calmly but surely for fear of
Offending your authority over the pleasure of this tired body this pelvis glistening
Gleeful of the strokes of your hand gliding over mass and mass and myomatous
Mass throbbing with blood and water obey the signal of your oiled hands to go down
Now quietly down from the navel to Venus with such soft flexible fingers fondling
Stroking running over and across this terrain of neoplasia oh you make me giggle
Me tickle with your stubble beard your comic affection make me laff love laugh
Enough to forget whatever cares in this mortal world this ageing body high in heat
Sweet and high of flower oil smell milky milk from happy womb oh let me go on and
On and on like this such pre-orgasmic bliss wards death away for more for longer.

Fatima Lasay, Quezon City
Monday, April 28, 2014

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