Magic

She is graying.
She is flawless.
Her mouth is a soft peach of a grin
her laughter is used sparingly
sprinkling her audience
and would be mates
lightly
Like rain
on droughted dirt
Enough
so they know they are
thirsty
they are drawn near
hoping
for another
drop

And

I love her sex magic
The way she moves
A gliding grace
Fluid
A sultry shadow
Which they chase
trying to grasp
at her wisps
with desperate wanting
and lust
But their
hungry
itching
fingers
can’t touch
her

I like watching the younger girls
Watching her
out of the corners
of their
judging yet
undeniably appreciative
eyes

What does she have?
Witchcraft? Sorcery?
Why do I not
have it?

Oh, but you do, loves.
It is in the
way you enter
a room
Head held high
Unashamed
Unembarrassed
Of your womanhood
The control you have
of yourself
your mind
your body
Mischief which
twinkles slightly
in your eyes
as you offer
the slyest
of smiles
Because you know secrets
They never will
And they’ll fall at your feet
Trying to find out
You are the Eden
The Paradise
The Promised Land
And only you have
the Power
to allow entrance
To Those You Deem
Worthy.
Never forget that.
She hasn’t.
She is a Lesson
Learn Well

You were born with this magic.
Own it.

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