I love men.

I love their arms,

their legs (athletic ones).

I love the way they smile when they like me.

I love the way their hand touches,

attentively, the small of my back,

as they usher me through a door of a restaurant

to a car,

out of some kind of “danger.”

I like kissing them too.

Yes, I said THEM.

I like how their breath feels on my face.

Or the roughness of their fingers as they stroke my face.

I like their deep voices.

Their assured walks.

And I like myself with them.

I like how I, at 45, feel confident when I am with them.

I like how I know that I am a “good catch” that includes my kids!

I like how I know what I want.

I like how my kids, my work and myself are more important than any of them.

I like the way I laugh when I like one of them.

I like that I am Kim Hamer,

widow,

mother,

and no, not your lover…..yet.

I like how I don’t think about Art but all of this is because of him.

His love for me oozes out of me and I morph into everything he thought I was.

I like that I don’t have to worry if they don’t put the toilet seat down.