Her Ponytail Sways

Hypnotized by her swaying ponytail,
attached to this sweet and sassy daughter
of an imperfect human race.
She ministers with her mouth
kneeling in raw and naive desire,
fitting to her subject.
Still, her ponytail sways.

Scenes flash from tasks I’ve seen these
lips perform over the length of her life.
There were the girly giggles of junior high.
I was there and it was awful!
There were the occasional harsh reprimands of bullies.
I was there, but it wasn’t me.
There were kind offers for shy girls to sit with her at lunch.
And kind offers for me to sit with the shy girls, too.
And always, her ponytail swayed.

There was the poem she recited in class
and her “thank you” when I said it was good.  
I replayed her lips saying “thank you”
over and over that night as I went to sleep.
And always, her ponytail swayed.

There were undeserved sweet words spoken  
between our hidden kissing sessions.
She was a tease and I her victim.
It was the beginning of magic.
Still, her ponytail swayed.

Tonight was unexpected, though often wished for.
A favorite fantasy come true.
I'm stationed now in the portal where her life’s thoughts
flow in words, laughter, and song.  
I feel the touch of that same tongue that formed
the words of her poem when I first saw her as beautiful.
Her ponytail sways.

My fingers touch the sides of her warm cheeks
and feel the cold pearls in her earlobes, gifts from her mother.
Her eyes meet mine as if saying she'll
receive whatever comes next.
It will not wait long.
The torrents of youth begin pulsing
deep down and powerful.
I’m riding a roller coaster,
dizzy with the rushing volts
as the dark room swirls.
My gaze is fixed on the place  
where my flesh enters her
now beginning to pulse silently.
Her eyes are closed, stoic, and resolute,
her ponytail bobs to the repeated gushes
and I feel warm air puffs from her nose.
She finally eases away and I hear air
rush into her nostrils long and deep.
Still touching her cheeks, I feel her labored swallow, then again.
My raspy voice says, “That was beautiful.”
She whispers slowly in pure alto tones, “Thank you.”

That night I dreamed of her ponytail
swaying lightly in the dark
and her lips carefully forming the words,
"thank you."