Your Spring Dress

Your spring dress
Isn’t so much a dress
As it is a plaid cotton long-sleeved shirt opened at the third button on your hairy chest
Because I’m the girl who still wears the dresses
And you’re the man who wears the underpants, sometimes, in this sort-of relationship
It’s a surfer thing, you said
Which I might have understood
Had I not been anticipating the feel of your smooth skin against my body
I only called it a dress because it's the garment that attracts young love in springtime
When young ladies like myself are all aflutter and blooming
Noticing men who are looking at me, and noticing that you might be casually looking too
Beneath the billowy skirt of my sun-dried hair
Where your mark lies hidden
A reminder of the cusp of something new
That I certainly hope will last beyond September

I am no spring romancer
But you, my dear, are irresistible
In your slow way, you call me girl
And I feel a tingle under my skin, down there
I am alight in your presence
Spinning well before midnight
When my romantic side normally gives over to my lavish sexuality
This is the adjective I think of lying in your bed
The next day, this early morning,
Whenever it was when we opened our eyes
When I took my time in telling you how good your body felt against mine

Lavish, languor, sensuality
These luscious terms that I roll upon my tongue when I am thinking Sex in slow and undulating rhythms
To be honest, I am always thinking of sex
Though it’s not the same when I have someone like you to incite me
Then I get a faint aching; for you I am restless,
Requiring your body
This isn’t the best time I could conceive of
To start pining for somebody…
To start marking my weeks from the moment I leave your bed ‘til next Friday
But I am happy

I am content with this new memory to mull over
To have laid you on top of me
And watched you nestle between my forgiving breasts
You are sheer manliness
Both vulnerable and strong
I want to write you an epic poem
And watch you turn it into song
I want to watch you twist my words gently
Filling in the gaps with your music

I am all clichés in the early days of spring
All nonsense and tulips springing from my lips like nature’s candy
I talk of spring dresses because I am begetting the image of a coquette
Fashioning myself with the help of your hands
Those hands that labored on the weekends in high school
Tending ripe avocadoes before it was hipster-cool
Leading you in a slow dance
Over the boundaries of propriety and taboo
Asking you permission before I tell you
What I’m looking forward to doing next time
With you