When a man leaves boyhood, a woman should be the only home he seeks. And her favors should be hard earned and satisfying once accomplished. ………
Is it obvious then, that I am from a different time?
I love a lady of shining reserve who moves fluidly, talks modestly, dresses appropriately, seduces reluctantly and contains mystery…..
I require nothing of her beauty, That should be odd/ exotic/unique/a laugh like a good engine/ a face that tells a story/ a body that is a miracle (woven of spare parts).
I love believing I was first to see her, this lovely flawed-creature of nowhere before, with her adult freckles or dent-deep dimples. Poorly-dyed hair. All straying from confused naughty roots.
I like mistakes, accidents, weight, mild trauma. I want her to have lived. If she has kept drink as company and her age is upon her, I don’t mind crow’s feet smiling at the edges. If she is a woman of celebration and feasts. Why shouldn’t she have some generous cellulite or a little extra poundage?
How could I judge her? Isn’t she a kin to my own spirit? If she is bore a child, she has earned the wide stripe marks that prove it. Oversized lips are a good tussle. Over sized hips feel better at War. Breasts, Bottom, Waist, give me exaggerated everything.
The man who said, “Beauty is Symmetry”, should be shot by the man who said, “There is NO Beauty without Strangeness!”.
I like discovering my woman like an Off-Map Island.
