I come up to our bed room,
you are naked on the bed.
Your sunflower body lotion
attaches to summer breezes
discreetly as you smile
a mischievous smile, a wink.
“Hold that pose,”
“I'll get a camera.”
Coming back the linen sheet delicately
drapes over your small round belly.
I want the belly in the picture to shadow the rise between breasts and thighs.
I want the belly you always were shy about
until I convinced you over years
running my hands over it
as I ran them over your breasts,
tracing pink nipples set in milk chocolate circles; the curve of your mound of curls
and you allowed me to do this with fingers and lips.
Women are meant to have bellies
not flat like a boy's.
Venus De Milo has a belly the world still admires.
Aphrodite flaunts that region
with hunger for birth--love, and desire.
So allow me, dear to capture the philosophy
the religion, the essence of the whole
without the drape of linen.