Seven Kimonos

He whispers something or other as if magically
my heart will open to things forgotten
and with each word stirs memories
better left in a pine box six feet under
and wisdom is more or less a forgiveness of past sins
I wrap myself in a silk kimono and slip back into his arms
where all that is between us is a defined passion
as friends and lovers but not in love
complications and revelations keep the path clear
of fallen branches from storms that have come and gone
he asks about my kimono as I reveal a new one
each time he spends the night
like changing the water in the vase
so the white roses and sunflowers are enjoyed

…for at least one more day

my stories are full of my obsessions
my need to feel something
that brings me joy instead of pain
he kisses me; an instinctive reaction I suppose…
if he senses my discomfort or a sense of his own
I disappear for awhile into the blur of his touch
cloaked in the pleasure of silk against my skin

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