First One Button…Then Two

She struggled to corral
The unruly stampede
Of her curl…

That rich, lustrous espresso mane
That fought to assert
Its freedom…

But corral it, she did.

Lifting those wild locks
From her back,
She exposed
Her neck,
And the closure of
Her silk, ivory blouse.

That’s when she truly
Sensed his presence,
Feeling his warmth
On her back…

As he stood close,
So close,
Behind her.

She welcomed
Her exposure,
To his touch.
And that touch was not dramatic.

Nor was it overpowering…

But delicate,

Simple,

And warm.

His fingers did not probe…

Those fingers violated no
Sense of her confidentiality.

Rather, his fingers
Moved with sensitivity,
And slowly…

Respecting her feelings,
And sense of privacy.

So as she corralled
Her mane,
Lifted above her nape…

She did so with acceptance,
And with anticipation.

There was no rush,

Just a welcome progression…

The work of his fingers,
Releasing the closures of that
Ivory silk blouse,

The last impediment separating
Her skin…
From his.

Her body…
From his.

Her passion…
From his.

Nothing fast…

All slow.

First one button…

Then two.

 

 

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

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