Am I Beautiful?

She asks her solemn lover
and lets her thighs go wide.

His eyes move down,
smiling at her navel's wink,

her fern-and-feather mound.
He fingertips her lips,

tender nestled sleepers,
fragrant, fertile, full,

and parts them to unfurl
the rose: her inmost lips,

fringed and dewy,
silken, convoluted.

Above, a veiled bud; below,
a passage so at service

to her breath and beating heart
that he bends to bring a kiss.

And all the answer he will gift
his lover's question comes to this:

his tongue's anointing tip
and the smile, bowing up his lips.

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