Beauty

White Dove coos the light through the bedroom window leaving puddles of glimmering pools on the darkened floor as the evening wanes and night takes control. The door slowly opens and you shuffle your weary body through the moonlit room, glancing briefly at the bed, at me. You know I am watching you. Your shoes are left near the dresser as your skirt slips to floor, the silk beneath shimmering in the moon light. The smooth fabric of your top is tossed casually across the high back chair that sits in front of the make up table. Flipping on the light, you intently lean toward the mirror as your hand deftly removes the lace that was hidden beneath your blouse and lays it to one side. You touch your face. Tenderly you follow the lines of your forehead, your eyes, your lips. You sigh. I watch as you determinedly grasp a jar from the table. Without a glance you smear it over your skin and wipe it away. Completing this task you look more closely and open a smaller vessel dabbing the liquid below your eyes and chin, then firmly pressing the lines, as if casting a spell, and willing each one to go away. You sigh again and glance at me in the mirror, then stepping back, you seem to notice the full you in the glass. Yet another cream, this time from a tube, you use to rub into your skin. First the top of your feet, then your calves and thighs, your hips and tummy, ending with your neck and chest where you look into the mirror and sigh once more. I watch as you turn off the light and slowy turn to me asking if I will finish your back. I say of course and you sit on the bed in front of me. I take my time as I rub the lotion into your shoulders. The length of your back is familiar to me, the smoothness of your skin, each soft curve, each tense muscle. When I have finished you face me and with hesitant breath and serious expression you ask, "Am I still pretty?" I take a long moment to consider your question. I know you can tell if I am lying. Examining your face in the moon light, I can see the grey peek through the brown hair dye you hide it under. The creases in your forehead, and prevelant lines around your eyes and lips speak of all of the laughter and tears that have visited you over the years. Loose skin beneath your chin belies your age. Glancing at your body in the dim bluish light, I can read the history of your life, the stretch marks on your hips, the subtle bulge about your mid drift, the reflected beauty of your once near perfect breasts, all tell the story of the kids, now gone, and the adventures we have shared. I lift the covers in front of you and you embrace me as you glide beneath them. Holding you tightly, I slowly rock you to sleep and with sincerest voice I whisper to you. "Yes, you are beautiful." 04/06/2019