Reach For Me

You reach for me; your large hands grasp
Through jersey layers at the body
Grown large, fuller with motherhood.
But that fire once kindled deep
Inside my stomach no longer
Smoulders. Extinguished like my sense
Of self. Now doting on daughters
Not lovers.

We talk of romance: candlelit
Fragrant massages; yet never
Have time, nor energy to break
Our routine.

Instead we languish, watch TV
With beer, chocolates, nostalgia.
Matching loungers with their edges
Rounded off.