I am ready
for margaritas with friends,
wearing straw hats and stretch marks,
and jokes about the guacamole
spilled on my
wet from the ocean breast
from the tortilla chip that shook
as I laughed.
I am ready for a walk
through the woods
and grass stains on my bottom
and leaves gently pulled from my hair
from the clearing
where we laid down to watch
the stars uncloak themselves,
then ignored them as we kissed.

But I wait
until they are ready
for me.

Copyright 2005.

poetry