A yellow-eyed man asked me once

what it was I favored

in older women

I told him

it’s something in their faces

the shape of their bodies

how their bones knit songs

as if all the years they have lived

have built a testimony

to the potency of woman

I’m weak-kneed in the presence of

strong women, vulnerable women

singers, poets, artists, thinkers

the myriad ways of woman

how breasts find their shape

over time

and colors change with seasons

hair grows long with streaks of grey

eyes own brevity

the smile remains that of a girl

rendering me hot cheeked

I feel the purposing of womanhood

like a blanket

though my contracted heart cannot

own more than a singular affection

i’m not like you, falling in love monthly

I could count on my fingers the times

a girl turned my head and my heart

all the way around

and when you wear that red skirt

you know the one

with the ruffles and the midnight cast

and dip your feet in the river

the glint of your ankle chain catching the stars

you could be twenty or you could be seventy

and I’d lead you by the hand

back to our tent, among the trees

all facing the sky in prayer

and lay you down beneath me

a lotus opening her mouth

to the glory of being alive

with lips like you just ate wild berries

and a tongue tasting of laughter

I drink you in

I drink you in

the elixir of your existing

even as we sagged against

the enormity of surviving

perhaps it’s that shape I love best

how well you make enduring

look