Skirts
I forget about you most of the time,
except when you are absent.
It is then I demand your presence –
need you beyond all else.
You fill me, tingling through my entire body
from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
The satisfying filling in my chest,
keeping my steady heartbeat, the tempo of life.
Your soft caress a lover’s silken hand,
you have permission for every touch.
You fly me to the skies,
an invisible lift beneath me.
I glide on your benevolence
toward dreamed-of destinations.
You have moods, gifts,
tremendous presence and generosity.
Yet, when angry, you wield
unheard of devastation.
You do have your lighter moments, though.
Who else would have the cheek
to blow up Marilyn Monroe’s skirts?