To you, such that their most immediate effect
Will be to drastically shorten the distance between us,
It matters little which of us happens to blink first
Someone needs to break the silence of this mutual hush

You’re there, in body only, while I, here, fight the lonely
Do you realize you never wrote to me a love letter,
What’s with the self-censoring the language of your heart?
Have you convinced yourself that muted feelings are better . . .

Than your dead-of-winter vulnerabilities exposed
Lest you somehow become my subject of ridicule,
You’ve self-vowed to give no ordinary man the pleasure
Woman, why is it that I’m willing to play the fool

Curious am I of your Friday night fragrance
And the elements of your Friday evening wind-down,
Hot, moist towels to enrapture your weary feet
Southern Comfort sipped by the fire—how does that sound?

We don’t have to remove our clothes to have a good time
No harm will be done to scrawl yourself over my lap,
And in case I begin to finger-comb your hair
By all means, feel free to succumb to a dreamworthy nap

Sweep you away like a sailoress tossed on a tide
I’m as gifted a rescuer as I am a havoc wreaker,
Finding ourselves smack in the middle of intimacy
Woman, consider me your anti-thrill seeker

A slow, methodical hand is the measure of a man
In whom you can deposit your fragile trust,
You simply haven’t been held at never-end length
Come just a little closer, and let me shake the rust

Off your too-long-neglected, fully clothed body
Nothing about their removal guarantees a good time,
The shortening of distance between us is its own reward
And now the reason for this Pamper-Her-Friday rhyme:

It would be my privilege your Valentine. Will you, J.?

Yours,
Rg2

_______

***
Pamper the woman . . . present to her your heartfelt Ask. -Rg2

© 2019 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®