A Woman's Body, Aging, Still Loves Itself by Lynne Thompson

kisses the air that surrounds it, loves
the lips in full pout, famous birthplace of all kisses,
the belly, brown, round, kisses its inverted button & the
shoulders — oh, how I kiss my shoulders! —
my nose kissing lilies and a purply night sky,
my neck, long as forever, fit for twenty thousand kisses,
twenty thousand kisses for each cocoa breast and nipple,
for the lower arms that encircle each other, then kiss, kiss,
even the ears, French kissing to tunes of Django & Debussy,
the upper arms wishing to kiss their tender underarms,
thread of both hands kissing the life-line
and my cheeks colored bronze with kisses,
lashes that kiss my eyes that kiss everything they see,
my forehead a map of the places where kisses live long, long
live my kinky hair, braided with kiss after kiss after kiss...

— Lynne Thompson