tawny
legs into gartered stockings.
Curling long ripples
into the honey lake of her
hair.
Enhancing already
impossible beauty with
a touch of blush against
flawless
skin. She slips into her
new dress—a seraph robed
in red. Then she turns to
face
me, the question in her eyes
as obvious as my answer:
“You are more than
beautiful. You are
perfection.”
BEST OF ALL
She is mine. I am acutely
aware of how other men stare
as we enter the ballroom.
They are not looking at me.
I love her on my arm,
an exquisite piece of jewelry.
A few of the women glare.
Nikki is the ruby
they wish they could
be. Their marble eyes follow
us to our table, leave us