I am a woman

With twelve fingers wrapped in lace.

Each one stands for a hardship

I’ve faced,

Or a joy,

I’ve jocundly enjoyed.

One is for a flightless child

Without the gift of wings.

Two is scared with a paper cut

From when I tore apart

Those lipstick stained lies of love

From my red leather journal.

Three is for the salt spots on my complexion

From the tears I cried.

Four is a glossy pink lip encasing a brilliant smile.

Five is for a stain of spilled over coffee to keep me awake.

Six is for those blue cotton sheets

You never remembered to wash.

Seven is for the day I didn’t feel like waking up.

Eight is for the chip in my window from the rock you threw.

Ten is for the time I believed again.

Eleven is for the pain you made me feel

As you left me standing there in satin

As people stared at me with wide open eyes

Waiting for the I do’s,

And twelve,

My darling,

Is for you.

I love the way I fool you
into thinking I'd actually let you for one moment
step inside my bathtub while I was in the shower.
But even more than that,
I love the way I think of you
if you actually did come into my shower.
How lovely your wet skin would feel against mine.
How I'd like so very much to shampoo your curly hair.
How I'd like to tell you you're beautiful,
and how I'd kiss you quickly when you'd deny it.
How your kiss would feel against my neck
as little droplets poured down my skin like rain.
How your tongue would feel inside my mouth,
a steamy embrace that would taste just a little
bit like Dove soap and mint toothpaste.
How your fingers would feel entangling in my hair,
or how your chest would feel against my breast.
How the sound of the pressure hitting the curtain
would only stimulate the chemical reaction
happening in the limited space we allowed between our two bodies.
How we'd mold into one.
How much time we'd waste arguing about my singing,
even though deep down I agreed I was awful.
I just like to argue with you.
How I'd hypnotize you with my kiss to get you to comb my hair,
to rinse the conditioner out of it.
How slippery my fingers would be trying to trace your lips,
with you trying your best not to smile.
How many times you'd fail at trying to blow bubbles
with a bit of soap between your palms.
Or how many times I'd catch you staring at me
while you were getting lost in the sound of my laugh.
How when we saw the foggy mirrors you'd draw silly faces
while I drew baby hearts.
How you'd tell me I was stupid for believing in those fantasies,
and I'd just  laugh because I know bottomless inside you believe it in.
You believe in love.
You believe in our love.
You believe in loving me.
How when we were finished you'd try to sneak into my towel,
and I'd run away secretly begging you to catch me.
I'd run straight into the bedroom, taking a retreat up to the headboard,
and how you'd crawl up after me.
How instantly you'd wrap your arms around me, still naked
your wet lips breathing right into mine.
How my soaked hair would feel against your skin,
how it would chill you, and I'd smooth down the goose bumps like a game
Like a game I only play with you.
How it would only be you.
How I only ever want it to be you.