The first poem

I am mid life now
finding myself pensive.
working in my flower garden
on a sunny Sunday morning.
then a poem pulls up
driving a red mustang convertible.
I remember this car
and this beautiful poem.
it wants me to unbutton my shirt
and unhook my bra.
I sit in the still familiar back  seat.
the poem recites it's soft downy words.
I notice I have taken all my clothes off
like a white pale statue.
I notice the reflection of my naked self
so desirable so hot
I still have it I feel it
I know it.
Afterwards
the poem and I
talk of Forevers
and marraige
and other untruths.