He enters her as if stepping into a deep dream, or letting himself fall into a great pool, dark in shadow, sunlight dancing on the surface.   This is an act, not of possession, but of surrender.

Her body has become larger over time, her perfect brown aureoles sliding over the buttery skin, circles widening; her breasts relaxing over the rounded stomach beneath them. He still desires her as his mouth craves food, loves to hear her talk to him as he takes his fill.

He watches her now, at the party, dancing with her grandchildren; her dark hair swinging, her gestures graceful, her broad hairy legs ending in sandals below the wide flowered skirt. The children are calling, “Mo-mo!” and circling with her hands.

Watching his face, a friend says, musing, “Wow, you’re still in love with her after all these years!”

He is quiet for a second. “What’s not to love?” he asks, his amused voice soft and low.