To a woman drawn

What is it about this thing called gender?

When all it does is deeply render

My soul of longing to curl up,

With one for whom I so full of love.

Well, truth to tell, I really mean sex.

With truth out

Joy to shout,

This gender thing makes my heart sing.

To be explicit when not there I do miss it,

And lone hands do not replace the real thing.

What power she wields with one glance

Thighs slammed shut, fat chance

The eyes flash cold when all I want is to hold

Her lovely breasts, nipples erect

While I enjoy swollen clit bathed in her soul’s nectar.

To feel her shake as passions surge

To appease in full her deepest urge.

To mount her in union fulfilled.

Deep and slow, we cling tight

Her legs wrapped about in sheer delight.

To swim in the pools she calls her eyes,

To lose myself in her depths.

Now perhaps age blunts the physical thrust,

More gentle communion less based on youthful zest

But in this connection we both do trust.

The melding of two souls in spiritual peace

Her face speaks of love and in our climax

The physical express more than words can ever.

But there is no denying that amid all this spiritual love and trust,

I look forward tonight to satisfying lust.

Graham Little

September 2008