Mamasan’s Apprentice

It is night again. I let down my silken hair
over my shoulders and open my thighs
over my lover. Tell me, is there any part
of me that is not lovable?
— Tzu YehBreathing is the secret
to clearing your thoughts.

Before anything,
you pick a name for yourself;
mine is Pink Blossom.
It should be about you
or what you hide,
something that lures.
You attract
by clearly saying it
without telling everything.

Then you convey 
the first word of your body,
a nod that pulls.
Indeed, the inciting edges
of the boundaries
are important.
Display your fingertips,
red nails, 
and excited toes.

Subduing intense impulses
should be your aim;
subtleties are beautiful.
You glance to observe,
squint when baffled,
and smile to agree.
When you want to laugh,
cover your mouth;
shy giggles are better.

Then you slowly push
your kimono,
exposing your shoulders.
The smoothness of your nape
and uncovered back
should be soft like cotton.
Bare your breasts
inch by inch
starting from the cleavage.

What still clings on your arms
must delicately fall;
your skin has layers.
Let the lamp make a silhouette
out of your face
and the blush on your cheeks.
To diffuse the scent
of your neck,
gently flick your hair.

When you want it,
it is desire 
that manifests in the eyes.
Seek the warm,
feel the sweaty
and know all textures of lust.
Let passion bubble 
on the lips
whose cadence is in gasps.

You’re now ready
for your first disrobing.

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