She leaned forward a little and the neckline of her black top moved slightly down and to the right, revealing a soft wart or a dermal bubble of some kind. For a moment I thought it was a quirky misplaced nipple, romanticizing what was only an accidental biological bump.
An instant of unveiling. A secret of the flesh. A personal shame. She'd written about lovers examining each other's skin in the morning haze and I couldn't help thinking of exotic lips kissing the delicate raised mushroom at different times in different places, crooning in strange languages. Such unsurpassed mental clarity, chinadoll face and luminous unveiled eyes, and yet, so ordinarily flawed in body.
She would have liked this accidental show of miscreation, mortalised forever. The vulnerability of skin, the clothed disrepair of corporeal substance. Had it been in a movie, it would have been her favourite scene.
No comments:
Post a Comment