Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

I’m not suggesting you violate company policy
To feign sickness is rather disingenuous,
But Lovers Ditch Day is worth the naughtiness
I’ll handle it should management make a fuss

“She won the lottery,” I’ll say with aplomb
It would be only a partial untruth,
A sudden boost to your bottom line–I
We’ll begin Pamper-Her-Friday in its youth

Sunrise: My hands on your bare shoulders
Muscle kneading elicits a morning purr,
Karate chops astride the spinal canal
“Am I the best?” Your response: “Yesss, sir”

Sautéed chicken huevos rancheros served bedside
Courtesy of your personal breakfast club,
Finger-feed you fresh-picked berries will I
Your sweet limbs the spokes and I’m the hub

The center of your bodily regions, consider me
Need I awaken the soles and the toes?
Your purrs, they’re becoming much more audible
To my touch, woman, you are predisposed

Up and at ’em–your usual daily mantra
No, that doesn’t play on Lovers Ditch Day,
By all means, sink your face into the pillow
As I L-shape the legs in a creative array

Of ligament tension relief methods
There’s a slight pain near the rotator cuff?
Let me employ my artisanal finger probe
Of course I promise not to be rough

Except where pain is part of the healing
as oxymoronic as that may sound,
And I definitely won’t neglect the glutes
You’ve expressed a helpless affinity as I pound

Gently, firmly, smackly, palm-exactly
Involuntary spanking does have its place,
No, don’t you dare stifle your approvals
The fetish is shared, no need to save face

Putting me to work as your private contractor
We’re bed-locked for at least half the day,
It’s Lovers Ditch Day with much more to come
What good is a woman of all work and no play?

________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . like no one else can. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Further inland to find the perfect umbrella tree
I’ll set up something of an intimate camp,
Your favorite fruit edibles and light comestibles
I’ve even stowed away an after-sunset lamp

I’ll need the light when I begin to recite
The lines of verse I’ve written in your name,
For what is a summer picnic without poetry
To your heart, girl, I’m staking my claim

Look there, to the sky, a half-moon in daylight
The other half? Surely she lies next to me,
My chest provides the perfect headrest
I notice you’re breathing more easily

Trust me, Love, that’s no coincidence
Considering the underappreciated life you live,
You only want to be cared for genuinely
But can you find it in your heart to forgive

Me . . . gosh, a man can be so reckless
His judgement and devotion called into question,
But examine his overall body of work
His potential is worthy of your intercession

Each saint has a past, every sinner a future
Can a picnic offer a chance at redemption?
Come with me and say what’s in your heart
Woman, I’m not asking you for an exemption

From the standards you hold, your invaluable worth
I see you clearly above the fray,
But understand my attempts at self-preservation
There’s much about life a good man must weigh

A summertime picnic can reveal a great deal
How does it feel . . . just being in my company?
The simple pleasure offers the greatest reward
Come bare your feet on the blanket and you’ll agree

Few moments compare to a shared picnic
Listen to my heartbeat, what does it say?
I’ve never seen you breathe so easily
You’re in my arms on Pamper-Her-Friday.

____________

***

Pamper the woman . . . like a summer’s romance. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Are there not times when a woman wishes to simply be left alone . . . with her thoughts, her memories, her own self-indulgences?

As I understand human nature, occasionally a woman prefers to be left to her own devices in the happenings of her days and nights, the opportunity to get in her own way–others uninvited.

Yesterday I granted you alone time, off-the-phone time, in-your-zone time, despite my Pamper-Her-Friday proclivities. I dampened my want-to-see-you inclinations yesterday.

Sure, I wanted to scoop you up in my motor chariot, the door open curbside only a few paces from your doorstep, and deliver a clutch of seasonal, handpicked flowers symbolic of the content of my heartbeats synched to your exact bio-rhythms.

Of course I would’ve loved to have taken you to the grand opening of the couples-only, fresh Moroccan-Brazilian fusion eatery and jazz lounge off the coast yesterday.

No question I wanted to coil my arm around your wanting shoulders at our direct-line-view-of-the-stage, candlelit table while Carlos Santana string-serenaded the privileged guests–the beautiful women onlookers namely.

And, by all means, I would have eagerly yet so smoothly escorted you to the dance floor, your temple rested against my chin, eyes helpless to closure, your body sweetly surrendered to my embrace, as I whispered my twilight, on-the-cusp-of-summer intentions for you and me in the coming days . . . as the music played.

Absolutely, I harbored those very thoughts of you yesterday, in honor of Pamper-Her-Friday. However, I reconsidered my assumptions of what would’ve been the right course of action: Was it what you would have truly wanted or was it what I wanted yesterday?

So I gave you your space. I let Pamper-Her-Friday have its way with you . . . without my interference, without my own selfish designs for you and me on that moonlit evening.

Yeah, I decided to not bother you on Pamper-Her-Friday, woman.

But Saturday’s a wholly different proposition.

I’ll be there in an hour, Love.

Tenderly,
Rg2

_____________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . with a little romance. –Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

What, 75 cents on the dollar comparatively . . .
Your take against your counterpart’s,
Harmony voids in work and domestic life
The ‘fulfilled’ target aimed—but errant darts

Thrown from your slightly weary hands
To say nothing of your exhausted mind,
Chasing that elusive have-it-all dream
And love has been less than kind

Do you truly know what it is you want, woman . . .
Is yesterday’s craving, tomorrow’s ‘care less’?
As spring begins its transition to summer
Might you need a season of tenderness?

No, not because you are not strong
You’ve shouldered worlds disproportionately,
But the Midas hand of a caring man
can augment the quality of life so fortunately

First, we’ll lighten your ceaseless workload
Workaholism is so overrated,
Promotion results not from perpetual motion
But smart investing in ideas understated

Like copyrights and creative service marks
emblematic of the universal heart,
Pamper-Her-Friday may come to mind
With value above commercialized art

We’ll take the concept off mere paper
And transcend it beyond electronic space,
Let’s live it out in human interaction
We’ll take each moment at your pace

Dinner arrangements have been set
Waterfront views so quietly lush,
There we’ll discuss our weekend itinerary
We’re on for fun . . . is that a blush?

The creator/innovator of Pamper-Her-Friday
Gosh, is the guy a genius or what,
And in case you’d rather not leave our table
. . . I’ll build us an oceanfront hut

Tonight.

Just come.

_____________

***

Pamper the woman . . . with a special table for two. –Rg2

Physiology says the brain, the epicenter of motor movement, prompts and controls the actions of the body’s extremities. The appendages are at the command of the brain, human anatomy affirms.

But what about the heart?

Call it an override–my heart over the brain–in the throes of Pamper-Her-Friday’s most sacred hours. The most vital organ of the human body? Last night that conventional wisdom was rendered moot–in your absence.

Sleepless in Southern California–I might as well have begun writing the movie script. Last night. If there are two character flaws I detest in the internal makeup of men, they are ‘needy’ and ‘greedy.’ Those foibles may well be the two most abhorred by women as well.

Greed is good? Wall Street may concur, but ask a woman. Need is basic? Water, oxygen and sustenance aside, ask a woman whether she admires that in a man.

I’ve long prided myself in the ability to enjoy my own company; any writer worth his salt understands that solace is requisite. His pen and creative mind are intriguing guests, no doubt.

But what of his arms, when the last sentence is arrived, punctuated by the final period? And his cottage is warm from the chill outside and the sangria-filled crystal glass is without its love interest? Empty arms can indeed be a sad state of affairs.

Somewhere in my sadness last night, I managed not to fall apart. I wrote. I drank. I reminisced. I motioned for your shoulders . . . without result. I summoned your fragrance, somehow still wafting amid the space between the four walls, under the dim lights, accompanying the haunting vocals of Sade Adu. Last night.

Yes, I appreciated my own company on Pamper-Her-Friday. I cast aside greed and need as best I could.

Your leaving for the weekend, deserving though you are of the personal getaway with your girlfriends, made me revisit my appreciation for my own company.

Given the option, however, I’d have much preferred my sangria paired and shared. Last night.

A man should never tell a woman he misses her. So, I won’t break male-policy.

But, I swear, the heart will at some point override the brain. If I could, I’d rewrite the movie script I found myself authoring less than 24 hours ago.

I’d re-do everything . . . about last night.

No, I won’t say I missed you, woman.

I’ll write it.

Tender are my thoughts,
Rg2

_______________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . by expressing your feelings. For tomorrow’s not promised. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Like, say, a woo note written over a network
Or a melt-her poem published unnamed,
Yes, they may float through the open ether
But only you know from whose pen it came

No need to blow the ghostwriter’s cover
When he’s more than careful to protect yours,
Should you take the full measure of his written heart
From it does what he truly feels for you pours

I conjure you at each daybreak, woman
My last night’s sleep was pleasantly abrupted,
Your face appeared and your fragrance neared
My think-of-you quotient, you’ve certainly upped it

How often have you returned the thoughts . . .
Those nights in my absence, did you pine away?
Were you to describe the body indicators in words
What deeper truths might they convey?

The Pamper-Her-Fridays arrive and leave
You’ve spent more than your share alone,
Pondering, you may’ve, ‘what if?’ the experience
Having left you in suspense, I must atone

Shall I come and steal you away this night?
My intentions would be far from indecent,
An assurance your reputation remains intact
While mindful, I, the heartbreak was recent

That one who knew not what he was doing
The emotional neglect, you taken for granted,
Your fidelity devalued, your mistakes ballyhooed
The love you gave one-sided and slanted

That hour is past, true intimacy is nigh
Come, will I quiet the last of the tears,
No interest have I in disrobing your body
But rather a promise to clothe your naked fears

Intimacy in this the digital age
Requires discreetness with sweetness like never before,
If you’re ready to be pampered offline, in real time
Consider my invitation all the more . . .

Tonight.

_______________

***

Pamper the woman . . . and her intimacy is yours. –Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

As dampness lingers in the cleansed air
and grey skies refuse to relinquish the chill,
I’ll prepare a bones-warming winefire
The cognac is begging us to break its seal

Can I creatively domesticate you tonight?
Worry not, responsible am I for all nightchores,
Nary a finger will you have to lift
Pampering awaits you beyond closed doors

Let me take your coat and the designer tote
By all means, relieve yourself of the shoes,
Down pillows and a plush throw lay on the sofa
Indulge yourself in the hearth fire’s hues

Violet flames subtly calling our names
The flickering is so thought-provoking,
If ambiance reflects the soul of the host
The moment has arrived for gentle hair stroking

I want to violin-play each feathery strand
Re-awaken that little girl in you,
This warm, cozy, private setting is yours
I’m all ears if you simply want to be listened to

What worries you, anything ailing you . . . ?
Is there a burden you’d like to get off your chest?
The vagaries of life and work can be so daunting
But my pampering won’t let them steal your zest

For living and loving and laughing unrestrained
We’ll take it one moment at a time,
The weight of the world is not on your shoulders
With a man who poses no uphill climb

A perspective understander, no unrealistic demander
One who comprehends the woman’s backstory,
A sage, a listener, a defuser of strife
Accepting of imperfections that accompany your glory

Alas, it’s Friday, woman, you’re where you belong
Quietude, a healing mood, devoid of pain,
Rest your tender head in the sanctum of my arms
While the cares of the world are left out in the rain.

________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . tonight. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®