Oh, she’s watched him cook omelets, precise paring of peppers and all. Perching those pointed bones of her bottom on his counter while reading the Times, she lets her leg dangle, toes pointed to the floor, a gentle swing of heel, a rhythmic hit on the low spot of a cabinet door.

This casual line of the shin, knee to ankle to toe, must certainly be orchestrated and rehearsed and called forth from the night before while she reclined in the bath, covered in bubbles, sunk low in the heated water, leg over the edge and dripping on the mat while seeking relief from the night’s breeze coming through the open window.


Her days with him were like this. An ease in the visual and a pause in the shared space and the sensual stroking of every line.

#for ReticentMental Property. Images courtesy of the web. This morning vignette sits in her memory with another sleepy, sensual dawn called 5A.M. 




7 thoughts on “Traced

    • have you ever held an egg in the palm of your hand, smoothed your thumb over the round, closed your fingers over the shell and opened, and closed them again…there’s a sensual focus in nearly every action, nearly every object when we are together. It is very “dreamy” as you say. Very theatrical.

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