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.
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