He hiked that thin, red, dress above my knees, my thighs, my stomach,
Hoisting it over my breasts, my broad shoulders, my neck, and up and
over my head.

And I lowered my eyes to the floor,
As wisps of my long, wavy, brunette hair
Fell to provide an asylum for my face.

How I wish I could have covered my body,
Or turned off the light.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, barely audible, in a whisper that shook the room
And with that he brought his hand up to meet my chin,
Trailing my jawline with his thumb as he did so,
My jaw, came to rest, in his strong, masculine hand,

Fearful to meet his gaze
I took a plunge into uncertainty and found
that I was being devoured
my body, my mind, my being.

He was hungry.
And, now, so was I.

“Sorry, for what?” he asked,
A knowing, subtle grin dawned on his face,
For he knew the tectonic plates that held my life together
had shifted.

2 thoughts on “An Imperfect Body

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