Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Rest my palms upon those soft, dimpled cheeks
Gently glide my fingers along those succulent lips,
And as your fragrance penetrates my warm hands
Grace you with an autumn kiss that will eclipse

The others from seasons past and lovers ago
It’s my intent to make you forget them all,
Set a path with me, woman, in the windswept leaves
Can I hold your hand into the colors of fall?

Slow-paced autumn walks and intimate pillow talks
Crown Royal on ice and Remy, straight, for you,
Laughing at our double faults and imperfections
Sharing our disappointments, gosh, we’ve had a few

You’ve always wanted a man who listens, I know
A listening man who needn’t offer you advice,
But one who takes the wheel on an autumn drive
While you admire the season’s foliage would be nice

A farmer’s market companion, I’ll hold the basket
You offer nature’s sweet harvest as I take a bite,
I’ll sweep the leaves from your eaves on request
On one condition: Let me hold you into the night

A man shouldn’t be lonely in autumn, God forbid
Even more, should not a woman spend fall alone,
If you’d rather solitude, then read my love letter
Feel my heart in the handscript and its romantic tone

If I could just have you at the same table
On the same sofa, by the same cedar-scented fire,
To share the same Pamper-Her-Friday in fall
Because we share this identical yearning desire:

To share autumn.

Driving fast as wheels can turn . . .

-Rg2

________

***
Pamper the woman . . . like a romantic in autumn. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Coming: 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday Autumn Gift Giveaways

I don’t care that your hair is organically grown
Or if it happens to be East Indian weave,
A woman wants to be made to feel exclusive
This writer’s the man in whom you can believe

Tonight

May I kiss you there, yes, there, not just anywhere
Then again, anywhere along there is an ideal sweetspot,
I’m sorry, you’re trembling but not from trepidation
Woman, your mid-sternum, my, is it radiating hot

I need to apply the stress test, hand on forehead
Lips mapping slowly your hind-neck to each lobe,
My fingers intersecting the parts between each toe
Lie back, easy now, a bit further I’ll probe

Tonight

Welcome to Pamper-Her-Friday—the midnight version
Panties prohibited; promptly drop those at the door,
Water’s spouting jealously from the showerhead
Looking for you at the center of the tile floor

Let it rinse away, the long work week’s residue
Lather therapy: shoulders to the length of your back,
If I migrate further, a quiet riot may ensue
I’ll stay in the safe zone . . . along the lumbar track

Tonight

A hydro-transfer is in order; the sauna tub awaits
Immerse yourself while I retrieve the pleasure drinks,
Cork popping, woman, ain’t no stopping … us tonight
You’re craving some precise phalangeal play methinks

Raise that ass oh-so-slowly above the water line
Sink your face into the plush pillow towel’s middle,
Trust these creative hands and native instincts of mine
Close your eyes as I play this exquisite fiddle

That is your anatomy … the water begins to sway
On the cusp of overflow from this pleasure typhoon,
I’m taking all your special Friday requests-to-play
Let’s get it all in for dawn breaks too soon

Inhibitions prohibited, lay your burdens down
On my chest, no worries, I’ll handle the rest,
Absorb, will I, your invisible scars and wounds
Surrender, girl, to this nocturnal pamper-her fest

Tonight . . . .

________

***
Pamper the woman . . . the moment she walks in. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Upcoming: 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday Autumn Gift Giveaways

Before you lay your tender head down tonight
Would you mind if I say a little prayer for you?
Tomorrow’s not promised but Mondays are stubborn
They never neglect to arrive with work to do

Close your eyes, pretty woman, and clasp your fingers
And think for a moment of an ideal place,
You’d rather be post-sunrise in this late summer
Can this poet be invited to enhance your space?

“Heavenly Father, would you place your hand upon
The Nubian woman’s head as she retires on this night,
The single mother, the wedded mother, the bachelorette
Bestow blessings on her as she arrives on the worksite

“That she performs well and meets all her deadlines
That she exceeds the requisites of her corporate task,
Keep her jealous, disgruntled co-workers at bay
And bring her home safely, Father, is all I ask”

Before you lay your tender head down tonight, princess
Just know this poet is spiritually thinking of you,
I understand that life and work are relentless challenges
But with God’s unending love and Romance by Rg2 . . .

You will rise, Nubian woman, you will rise.

Eternal blessings,
Rg2

________

***
Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2018 Romance by Rg2®

Ego is the ultimate conspirator.

I left mine some time ago.

But for this fleeting moment, on Pamper-Her-Friday, my ego bleeds for your attention. I need you to read me tonight. This is no plebian love letter.

Sheba, I want you to think of me this evening—and thereafter. Why? No publisher in America will touch me. They don’t believe I write the Pamper-Her-Friday love letters. A mocha, cerebral, spiritual, heterosexual man apparently doesn’t represent their bankable author of choice.

I guess no one’s reading Rg2. Might that cohort include you?

Don’t break my heart, Sheba.

My manuscript has been turned down by countless editors across the industry. No one’s reading Pamper-Her-Friday, they say. Would you be my one reader tonight? I need you, Sheba. Your eyes. Your attention. I need.

Apparently the only reader I have is a compassionate bookworm at Guinness World Records. I received a correspondence from that body recently revealing I’m on their radar: Longest online love letter series ever written. They say 500 will be something of a human miracle.

Call me a miracle.

God willing, and with your inspirational presence tonight, I can do 500 . . . and more. It’s the hardest endeavor upon which I’ve ever embarked. But if I can attract your eyes, your mind, your interest in my amorous literature, this evening, it’ll be more than worth all my efforts, my sweat and tears, my contribution to this wanting world.

Sheba, will you meet me tonight . . . on the Pacific shoreline? I’ve requested a table for us in the midst of a late summer breeze, sand beneath our feet, tiki flames as garnishment, moonglow in full effect.

Guinness has noticed. They’re quietly watching. I’m so grateful.

But the ultimate blessing would be your presence this evening.

Just you and I. And the poetry I’ve written for you.

On Pamper-Her-Friday.

Can you?

-Rg2

_______

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

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

If you consider a wretch like me worthy of the ask, I have one request of you. There’s an angel who’s earned each and every millimeter of her sacred wings.

Having given her voice and her humanity, her very essence, to the cause of the betterment of life, she deserves her place among your most trusted inner circle.

If a wretch like me is worthy of the ask, mine is only this, Father:

Pamper Aretha Friday.

Please.

Amazingly graciously,
Rg2

_________

***
Pamper the woman . . . for she may one day become the queen of a nation’s soul. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

https://youtu.be/mg9J5it4mbI

I asked my grandfather recently whether he felt the country is on the verge of Jim Crow 2.0. He lived through the first version. He managed to traverse that shameful, perilous journey and come out the other end an optimist.

His reply? “History, unfortunately, is a repeatable offense. Be prepared either way. You’re strong . . . you’ve got what it takes to survive and thrive despite.”

His eyes, during those words, betrayed his eternal optimism. I was torn between his confidence in me and the gravity of his answer. The sage always told me the truth—I could bank on it—and the truth was crucial in my development, especially upon learning the country was built on a lie—that continues to breathe to this day.

If history is repeatable, as I dread to think, then what are the chances of a repeatable “O-run” to counter history’s dark side? Is Obama 2.0 wishful thinking on my part? Perhaps.

But a voter can imagine, can’t he?

The planet’s rebelling and dying. I’m sure you see the constant fires that refuse to be doused for very long from continent to continent. The global food supply is less and less clean nor natural. The oceans are suffocating marine life. If this sounds biblical, forgive me. If I sound alarmist, I beg your forgiveness.

Were you to run, of course you’re no savior, Michelle. I wouldn’t dare place that on your shoulders. But a gifted mind coupled with emotional intelligence and a humanist’s heart, all of which you possess, are sorely needed in leadership.

And the DOS community is vitally in need of a trusted advocate with integrity. The existential threat is real.

My vote favors you, hands down, were you to run. And the harmless, silent crush this writer has held in your honor can finally be requited . . . for good of the world.

Pamper-Her-Friday blessings to you, Lady Michelle.

Graciously,
Rg2

Nota bene: Should my imagination somehow come to fruition, could I be your reparations writer?

______

***
Pamper the woman . . . for she may become a future president. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2 ®