Rejecting Reuben

She gazes into the mirror
attempting to readjust gravity.
I compliment her figure in earnest sincerity,
my comment is followed by her raising an eyebrow
skeptical of reflected fact, she turns instead toward fiction
creating an image that she sees in her minds mirror.

Still I know that far off gaze,
time has redesigned her body.
She wants to be the gazelle of years ago,
lean and sinewy perked breast vixen.
Shaking her head in comprise
she settles for just a few pounds here and there.

Responds to reality with "I'm too fat, too wide, just look at my ass."

Delighted at the invitation,
I walk behind her for a better view
enjoying the roundness of her body.
I examine the width of her hips
and sample memories
of time spent sheltered there.

It has not occurred to me
to have her twirl a baton
or run the 100 meter dash.

I simply love to look at her,
to feel her body yielding to my presence,
the embrace of her flesh around me.

I pull her against me,
watching her eyes flutter.
The sarcastic look fades
into a feigning of surprise,
as she feels my hardness against her
nesting perfectly content between each half of her complaint.

For a moment she is the gazelle
giggling girlishly and pulling
slightly away from me.
Despite the coquettish behavior
I feel her accept my compliment of arousal.
She responds with a silent thank you
expressed in the warmth of her body, extended breaths the almost imperceptible push
of her hips into my groin.

Our eyes meet at points on the mirror,
she sees I do not want the gazelle.
That version of her cannot wear the potent sexuality that comes only with grace of age and attitude.
I feel a shiver at the hunger in her eyes
and as I slip inside her, time gives her back to me the way I want her.

Kissing each freckle on her shoulders,
trailing fingers over the parts she would change.
"Fine, I'll keep my hips" she murmurs.