She dropped her robe.
Naked and defenceless,
she stood there
daring me
to say something,
to do something.
But I couldn’t.
I was rendered mute and immobile
by the beauty before me.
My eyes drank in everything,
and my mind raced,
pulling me back
to another moment
the first time
her robe fell away
thirty years ago.
Back then, lust flooded everything:
a young woman in full bloom,
almost too perfect to touch,
too irresistible not to.
But today,
as her robe lay crumpled on the floor,
I saw beauty,real beauty,
not in the form,
but in the offering.
She gave herself to me
without shame, regret, or embarrassment.
She knew.
I knew.
The passing years rested on her hips,
her skin,
her hair,
her smile
in everything about her.
And yet
And still
I wanted to devour her.







Now that is want and reverence to the beauty of the female body. Nicely done
Thanks Fia
All women are beautiful just some more than others.😜💋
Beautifully penned, Peter. This is truly a glorious write my friend and I agree with you wholeheartedly. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian
The hips of passing years This is a gooder.
Thanks for the comment Atticus.