Unshaven  Legs

She runs a hand down the length of her calf,
feels stubble begging for a razor’s touch
yet ignores this plea. The rough sensation
somehow more intimate than the smooth silk
of freshly shaven skin, lotion-softened.

An act of premeditation, shaving
to prepare for the art of making love,
annoys her. Losing spontaneity
for the sake of vanity becomes her
barrier to pleasure. She wants to feel

his hands caressing her without judgment,
lost in spur of the moment, caught up
in the existence of shared desire
not caring about her unshaven legs.