Sometimes I think about
a woman’s belly
The kind that is soft
and just a little warm
That cups into your hand
And puckers under your lips
Bellies are underrated
Attention is often given
To more explicit places
But the belly is tender
A windowsill made of cotton
to rest your head
With sides to gently grasp
When you press yourself
Against your lover
Who you have to remind yourself
Is really only mortal
Because to write her off
As merely a goddess
Would be to not acknowledge
The intricate flaws
That make her
Maddeningly irresistible
She is a boundless story
Written in every genre
Satisfying to the mind
The eye
The body
To rest against her
While you gaze out into the world
Is the pinnacle of bliss
Sankofa Virgo 
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