She wants, she knows. She touches.
She consoles, she caresses. She shouts.
She hits, she kisses. She adores.
She feels, she listens. She ignores.

She expects and expands. She cares and shares.
She protects, hugs and embraces.
She seduces, charms and cries.
She smiles, wonders and marvels.
She talks and is mute.

She marries. She works, runs, jumps, swims, flies and flies over.
She washes. She waxes, rubs, pickles, cleans, fixes and sorts.
She enjoys, she reads, she writes.
She plays, she suffers, she feels.
She cheats, closes herself in and dreams.
She frightens...

Her belly is soft, round, so warm, very alive!
Her belly is like a balloon, incubator, a passage.
Her belly is the illusory portal of their story...
It fascinates, intimidates.
It is the perfect screen upon which to project hate.
It is the precious, soft jewel box of a submerged memory.
He knows this well, as he looks at her hiding what he sees.
He says nothing. He thinks lower, underneath her belly.
He imagines the heat of her sex...
Already sliding his way through the black corridor...
hoping to reverse the initial voyage
to find, for one fulgurating instant, his first hold.

Back to Summary 10-1998
©1997-2000 by pisalou