Forty, I still have hope
The glands in my ******* engorge
the desire, with big eyes

I bounce between decency
and groping, tripping
over crooked paving stones

spying for an opportunity
Where is my husband now
that I need him

to go for me?
Doesn't he smell my need?
I pull up a leg

my wrap skirt falls open
Half-hidden my butterfly
the promise of my powder puff