She is reclining,
reading
on bed or couch;
on her side,
jean-clad legs in
fetal curl,
head propped up
on cocked, sensual
elbow, other hand
holding the book
her eyes flitting
through her fiction
sometimes she is on
her back, nestled in
pillows, engrossed,
both hands grasping
stomach-resting book
bare feet crossed
at the ankles
I sit on the edge of
couch, bed
casually, gently run a
single finger across
her t-shirt clad
midsection in gentle
sawing motion,
poking; outlining
so I pointedly, gently
tell her every time
is just where the staples
would be located
in her centerfold shot
should be so inclined
to ever pose for one
She always nods in a
way that only being
together for twenty years
can acknowledge both
my attraction, and her
starring role in my elusive,
creative daydreaming.
She smiles, and we
continue reading
Ponderable polemics, poetic 