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Terry Collett

Woman to Woman Thing.

Her husband failed
to give her this, this
embrace, this kiss.
Her lover, this other

woman, this one whom
she could explore, wrap
herself in, tongue, lick,
smell, was suddenly

revealed to her, at a party
of her husband’s, some
big do, some work related,
job promotion hogwash.

She almost dissolves in
this female warmth, this
female smell, this soft
flesh thing she has known,

yet misunderstood for so
long. Her husband’s sexual
predatorial ways are over,
he can go find some other,

go to some girl at the office,
some tart he secretly (so he
thought) had bought. She
feels born again, as if erupted

from the womb a second
time, mouthed a fresh cry,
suckled at new breasts and
likewise the other hers, too.

What would people say has
long since ceased to matter,
love’s intensity blows out
candles of such, puts far from

reach the narrow minded tongues,
the moralistic finger pointers.
They sleep together, eyes closed,
bodies wrapped about each the

other, dreams take on a new edge,
other shades and tones, nothing
of the old life, just this woman to
woman thing and loving moans.

Submitted: Saturday, April 13, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 04, 2013

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