From my mother’s womb
I have needed the touch of a woman
At first the light embrace of mother love
And the strong guide of her hand
Later the experimenting
Hands finding what eyes found pleasing
Seeing the helpless look in a young face
As we both found pleasure and giving
Sill later needing the caress
The holding, not the making, of life
Giving myself to anyone who would hold me
Leaving nothing for the one I’d wife
Even now I feel the need
To be tucked away in the woman’s arms
That would warmly hold me to her breasts
Giving to her the best of my charms
Understand this
I can be held, but am hard to hold
I give my body to those who openly try
But run from love, or so I’m told
© 1996 Tim D. Coulter Sr.