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The Summer Alphabet of Woman (I Speak Woman)

The Summer Alphabet of Woman

 

Every summer, I learn a new language.

Every winter, it departs for warmer climes,

And its charms and naked arms, its own alphabet,

clean forgot.

 

Multi-lingual in the summer's peculiar

One language, one aleph bet,

But mega-millions of dialects,

Know them all cold, know them all, hot.

 

I speak Woman.

 

Summer is soft, shapely, sweet,

Clean, bare, lush in a sparse way,

And Woman is spoken thusly.

There are no harsh sounds,

Guttural exclamations, nein!

 

I speak Woman.

 

There is no ugly in the summer.

Ugly being an ugly word.  

It cannot exist in an atmosphere of

Sun, greenery, sand, carefree days, vacations, no school.

There are no ugly women in the summer.

 

I could take this writ many places,

But if you are sputtering sexist or other labeling words,

Could not give a good god **** because in the summer,

There is no ugly, there is no prejudice.

 

And I still speak

Woman with an almost perfect fluency,

au naturel.

 

Gym clothes, short shorts, A-line skirts swishing in the breeze,

High, god, so high the heels, flats clip clopping, flip flopping

all over my heart,

But, it is the bare arms and the hints of summer

Cleavage, the short skirts, body hugging one piece fabrics

stretching from here to down there that does not

Hint,

the shoulder strap of the underthings that asks,

that commands me,

to wonder where it leads too...

 

Even the light wrap at night mocks me,

Like gift wrapping with a smile demure...a teasing blindfold...

 

All these say:

Write us poetry in our very own tongue,

Woman.

 

Will oblige.

 

I curve with curve of the ***** and

invert with  S arc of the waist,

Mystifying, how it is the designed place

For my hands to grasp, and never fails.

 

The crayola colors of flesh variations,

Boggle the senses... How can tan  and pale,

Dark and Light

Have so many

Symphonic variations?

Adagio, slow and leisurely, a pas de deux

For two eyes, then a

Timpani crash and thunder, as

Byron wrote,

"music arose with its voluptuous swell,"

Yes, swell...swell...swell

 

Enough.

My eloquence, no match for my

Fluency.

 

Late August, and my vocabulary is already

Diminishing.

I forget how to say in

Woman

*Without you I am nothing,

With you, I am more than everything,*

 

Tho I can no longer say it,

It is is still true and

Beyond belief.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
nat-lipstadt
99 / M / NYC/Lippstadt/Kraków
Published
Aug 22, 2013
Lines·Words
71·399
Notes

Being trying to write this since June, so as u can see, I really struggled how to do write this w/o offending, realizing full well, I could not succeed. And that is poetic truth. If you want, just block me,

knock yourself out, as I said:

I could take this writ many places,

But if you are sputtering sexist or other labeling words,

Could not give a good god **** because in the summer,

There is no ugly, there is no prejudice...

August 2013

Permission

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