I slide my fingers up her thigh, to her ass, and up her spine.
She’s naked in the fetal position, dozing off.
Pale and smooth, not a hair on her body.
She’s tired. Life has tuckered her out.
I pull her up to my chest, her snore a faint hint in my ear.
She reminds me of a statue, how serene she is.
Those ones you find in those fine art museums,
Each sculptor’s interpretation of their feminine ideal,
Of a Greek Goddess.
My fingers run through her red hair gently, then toward her spine.
Up, down, side to side, in a circle. Repeat.
I think deeply as my fingers run through her physique.
Those statues weren’t an imaginary ideal,
Women like this inspired those statues.
Also check out: For This One Day, She Made Me Forget and The Woman Who Taught Me I Was Good For Everything But Loving
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