An Unfolding

Standard

The sweep of my
curling waterfall of hair
across your bare shoulder
My eyelashes flutter
like a butterfly’s wing
against the whirl of your ear

Your hand floats
over the curve of my spine
reading the ridges there
like braille

A message
just for you

Once, my butterfly kisses
were reserved for the
the tip of my father’s nose
the fullness of my mother’s cheek
An excuse to move deeply
into the shelter
of their unbroken attention

Now, my eyelashes dance off
your waiting skin
and offer me up to you

© Julie Ayers
October 2011

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About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

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