A Women's Perceptions

There are passages of time
that slip unnoticed
when words fall silent
under the sweet caress of
innocent glance;

When expectations turn
to subtle yearning
felt in the slight tremble
of tapered fingers,

and a woman's body
desires what the mind
can not truly satisfy;

When need is dressed
by propriety
walking quickly
to turn away
from necessity.

Yet the stillness of moments
hang like storm clouds,
where we dream of lifting corners
allowing emotion to envelope,
waiting passionately--
for its riotous deluge;

How could it be known
that a voice alone,
could send ripples of expectation--
through barren corridors of one's being.

Where libraries of knowledge,
could not catalogue pure perception
and had never engaged in the repartee--
of the language of love.

Nor could it have been known,
that a single presence--
could raise the hair on arms,
leaving them glistening,
in scorching flushes--
permeating the skin,

and in the rush--
of spine tingling expectation
a woman wonders, with agitation,
if it could be for him--
as it is for her?

Or is she destined to be as only wind,
twisted into a joining--
of the purely physical,

where gratification is felt
only in the gyrating movements--
of sexual hurricanes
and in the virginal calm
separated by--
degrees of velocity...