Getting dressed is such a loss to the world
There is such sadness when it happens. Getting dressed is such a loss to the world. I mean one moment she is there, asleep next to me. Naked. A smile upon her lips as she gently sleeps, the rise and fall of her beautiful breasts brings an ache in my heart. Those perfect breasts, an incredible vision; humbling. An expression of humanity so insanely perfect that the mere sight of them would make priests learn to play the violin and spend the remainder of their days among the endless steps of the Great Wall serenading the heavens with concertos and cantatas. Even the tiny scar from a childhood injury cannot mar their perfection, instead it delineates them, creating the tiniest variance in appearance. Her hair falls on her shoulders glowing as the morning sunshine streams in from the window. As she sighs gently and turns away from me, I look upon her back and am reminded how intense her pleasure was from a simple back rub. She moans and gives me encouragement as I knead her taught muscles around her neck and shoulders while she relates her day’s trials and tribulations. Drinking red wine on into the night we laughed, and cried, and talked, and all with that wondrous feeling of gentle kisses.
Kisses. The meeting of not just our lips, but of our minds. We care for each other, we love each other, we are one when we kiss. We are complete. No force of man or nature can alter how our souls have entwined to become one through this sharing of Kisses.
Falling asleep in my arms, her head resting against mine; the scent of her remains upon my memory peppering my consciousness with aromatic visions of her touch, the downy softness of her skin, the taste of her lips. The gentleness of her breath against my cheek as she sleeps deepens my love for her.
Coming awake, her smile makes me glow. Taking my fingers, I draw a line along her jaw from her ear to her chin, and she smiles. A smile that forever is imprinted in my heart with mystical precision. Drawing my head towards hers with her hand, she kisses me once more, perhaps for the last time. On the morrow she leaves, new job, new city, new adventure, a new life. Health issues prevent me from accompanying her. Unable to put aside my health to begin life anew, the risks are too great to create a new business, or extend what we have found. I'm old, she's young. It was a moment in time that we shared. I tell her my life is over, and she assures me it is not. How do you thank someone for loving you when you barely love yourself.
And then it happens. As she stands she begins to put the clothing back that was removed with such care and diligence, I am in awe of her beauty. Black lace panties, that she favors, create stripes of gossamer blackness as they are slid up those long luscious legs. Her black lacy bra goes on and with a deft move that no man could ever master, is hooked together behind her back and the perfection of her womaness are adjusted inside. Pants are slid up and cover her from the floor up to her lovely waist, her navel winking at me as she looks around for her blouse. After she pulls on the black blouse that seemingly escaped being unbuttoned the night before, it is complete. She is dressed. The vision of her glorious natural beauty is gone, covered with seemingly ordinary blouse and slacks. An unknown loss to the world, such perfection was for a brief moment in time, mine, and mine alone.