A Line

If I traced a line…

starting from your hair, just beside your brow, as you closed your eyes and leaned into my hand, down past your ear, along the side of your neck then out to your shoulders, before turning down, tracing out the small protrusion of your breast, along your ribs, feeling each one until I reach your side, your waist, the somewhat less small protrusion of your hip…

let me pause here for a moment while my heart rate settles.

no, no, this is no good… it's just beating faster and faster, concentrating every single last drop of blood in my body…

…

sigh

…

better move along.

down and down and down those endless legs, finally reaching the most beautiful of toes.

The resulting figure would be perfection, perfected.

The most beautiful line to have ever been traced, a curve for the ages, one artists only dream of being able to draw.

One of many, so many perfectly perfect lines that could be traced from you. The shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the arc of your back, down to past your rear. The way your hair falls across your shoulders. Your nose, your chin. Your hands, the very definition of elegance.

And those are just the ones I've seen.

God, I hope to see the rest some day, my beauty, my walking work of art. See them, trace them, memorize them, worship them… every day… from now until the end of time.

My love, my impossible love.

I love you.