Naked

My favorite...

My most favorite glimpse of her was when she was naked.

Not nude.  Not bare, or exposed.

Not when we were sensual even, because at that close distance she was exceptionally beautiful...remarkable...the sensory illumination of our bodies intertwined like ropes woven together...that feeling was immersive, I was buried in her.  I was interwoven.  I was like ink upon her paper.

I could not see the entirety of her when she was beside me...only just the eyes or where I laid my gaze.

Rather, my favorite glimpse was usually in the afterwards...when we were in the glow...and we were talking like two of the dearest friends ever...when we had shared quietly what could never be conveyed by words...but now, we were preparing to return.

Back to life.  Back to reality.

And she would arise naked, walking past me to gather her clothes, gather her belongings.  She was completely stark, and completely comfortable.  She knew how my body had responded to her, and how she to mine.  We were complete.

In those quiet moments of shadow and half-light, her curves exposed and vulnerable, open and preparing to become clothed again...I found her ease of being naked inviting...I found her comfort in her skin extraordinary.  Sexual but in reminiscent...reminding me of the sweetness of her that was becoming a fast memory.  She walked, she sauntered over and put on her clothes like in a dressing room, mechanical and repeated.  But before she did...before she placed on the layers there was a glimpse of her...when she was naked...and god did it remind me of why I could not wait until I could see her again.

Clothed or not.