My, My, My…Body

This post is part of an inspired SheLoves Magazine synchroblog. Write your own love letter to your own body by July 18th and then link it up to SheLoves. (Even if it turns out to be a sassy love poem you never saw coming, ehem…)

Oh yeah, a “synchroblog” simply means folks are writing simultaneously on the same topic.

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My, my, my

Body

Look at you,

and your memory for detail.

You caught me off guard that day

The way you sat up straight

When you saw him.

After all these months.

I couldn’t stop your staring.

Yeah, I caught you lingering

over every inch of his…

skin.

Oh, I know,

your fingers

can chart his earlobes

Like Magellan

And ski down the slope

Of his nose

like Picaboo Street

But neither of you

were athletes

of form.

Explorers…Maybe.

The way you traced short lines

from his navel to his heart

and back down to the mole

on his….

belly..

Don’t betray me

My, my, my,

Body

I thought this through.

I know. I know.

You’re losing something too.

You found your nook

In the crook

of his arms.

You don’t just charm your way into that kind of knowing.

I hear you.

You’ve got mourning to do.

You need your space

to let your fingertips ache

and your head hang heavy

with the weight of losing the chest

you used to wake up to.

I know. I know.

It doesn’t make you weak.

I’ll let you speak your peace,

Or feel it through.

And I’ll try not to interrupt you

My, my, my,

Body

Take you time,

Relive and find the moments

You want to hold onto.

Take every last look,

Cause we’re closing the book

On this chapter.