So What

So I posted that last poem
On the wrong damn blog
I'm a mama
Proud and passionate
Now you know

He Runs to Me

He runs
Knowing I will
Catch him
Big, big love
Big, big hug

He runs
To me
With questions
1,000 tops his list
And we're still counting

He runs
Feet pounding
Heart bubbling over
You know I act surprised
As he comes out of his
Favorite hiding place

He runs
When I want him to
Simply walk
A constant chatter
Of his lovely talk
Pointing out the things
My tired eyes
Would otherwise
Browse over

He runs
To my waiting arms
Uncapping all his
Childish charms
Kissing my shoulder
Turning a beating heart over
And over
Making it beat
One more time
For him

Undone

Part the tender lips
Passion's tender kiss
Catch my breath
Deep thrust
Into my depth
Beyond the lust
Past the must
Into the winding valley
Of my soul

Perfect

You're the perfect match
Dark heart
Mysterious light catch
Shrouded in ripped
Tattered satin
Stained with the blood
Of a love
That promised to be
Forever

Sit closer
Be my shelter
Be my cover

Petri Dish Specimen

One drop
Two drop
Quiver and hop
But he doesn't stop
I refocus my microscope
Examining this word he
calls hope
Latex glove
to the word love
But I keep looking
Refocusing
Lab coat feeling tight
Taking all the restriction
Microscopic friction
My acid
His tepid infatuation
Petri dish specimen
A growing gentleman
Crawling and clawing
under my skin
Tantalizing
Desensitizing
Enticing
Sensually swimming
He's growing
under my ultraviolet light
that silently screams out
in the night

Cafe Angel

She pounced on that buffet
like a black widow
pouncing on her next lover
Cover all princess
Hair all a mess
Her walk was not a stride
It looked like a long ride
The day rolling down her
work worn clothes
slowly
Hands in her pockets
She belted out a gruff hello
To the John Deere fellow
He tipped his ball cap
Gave his leg a slap
He smiled mischievously
As she smiled in return
rather serenely
She pretended to study
the cauldron of soup
Witch eyes
watching
She looked back at him
a faint
blushing grin
He tipped his hat again
His café angel
On her lunch hour
2 lovers ready to devour

Doll Maker

They strut in
Boots clicking
Bought from the
same magazine
Little buckles
tinkling
Shiny leather
shining
Stretching across
perfect calves
Perfect whole
to perfect halves
My hands nervously
iron out the
imaginary wrinkles
in my navy blue scrubs
Toes scrunch in my
comfy but
rather ugly work clogs
Did the doll maker
pick and choose
who would be
pretty and perfect?
He surely must've
But I giggle to myself
brush past the dolls
on my way out of the elevator

Some dolls are just made different