when he sits beside her
she knows what she wants
him
and she pretends that she is just
nothing but a girl
whose hands are too tiny and so fragile
and he of course
will be tender & gentle to any kind of girl like
her
but she is more than a girl now
that
he must know
she knows where to touch him
what weak spot
and tell him
you are sitting beside this
woman
he takes a look some more
her eyes are are inviting
not innocent
he begins to see the eyes
of the woman
he made love before
she wears the smell of a beautiful
full-grown woman
ready for any sweet seclusion
or inclusion shall i say
a seduction just to be exact in some ways
this physical smell
of warm flesh and smooth skin and luscious lips
of a woman
now she looks at him again
a lingering stare
ready to take him in
only if she understands
the changes in her taking place in this moment
in such a magical moment he does not see the same little girl
whose hands he thought
are innocent
and so fragile
he understands fully the begging hands of time
now the fruit is ripe for the picking
the tree is waiting
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem