Belly Amber Pijor

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You have gained a belly
on your trim body.
Like a Buddha, you sit,
cross-legged on rumpled, burgundy
bed sheets, your arms to my back,
smoothing lotion over my
shower-fresh skin.

You have gained a Buddha belly
to rival my Venus de Milo
hips, my extra pounds you call
curves, the bends in the road you glide over.

You have gained a belly
from cooking together, generous helpings of rich food,
from quiet nights cuddling, tracing stars with fingers,
from extra hours lying in the bed thinking.
Never mind your nakedness.
Let your belly spill over your pelvis. You are unfolding.
You are blooming.

Two hands pressed
against my back,
my legs, my arms,
my breasts.

Two hands pressed to my belly.
Nothing else exists.