Two Women

And now the girl is giggling
because she is in her lover's
arms, and  the dream becomes real
skin on skin, lying beneath me
one floor away the voices
rise in the air and resonate
through my floorboards, I
catch their tone, their free-flying spores,
but not their words.

They both are large women
of the botticelli type, and vivid, and alive,
their selves loud and bubbly, well-suited
to life and the living of it
sparkling, exuberant
one fair, one dark
two pairs of arms, curved arcs
of soft flesh, soft             
handfuls to squeeze soft curves
the palm press
the tender press at the heart.

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