Look at you
Look at you he says before he’s even taken his shoes off.
Passing through town.
Tall.
Dark.
Handsome.
Fascinating.
I appreciate his appreciation because it’s not without planning…
… that I’m sitting on my dining table in a tiny black dress and kitten heels, my skin shining and smelling of cocoa butter.
It’s not without planning…
…that my apartment is twinkling with fairy lights and mirror balls and broken-spined books with interesting titles.
It’s not without planning…
… that the pinot noir is perfectly cracked and effortlessly breathing, and the playlist is beating to the rhythm of the human heart.
It’s not without planning…
… that I am moisturised and scented and my sheets are crisp and my hair is soft and swingy.
It’s not without planning…
… that my muscles are built with weights and protein and an exploration of my limits and it’s not without planning that I tangle my body up in yoga poses and impossible attempts at Instagram stretches.
It’s not without planning…
… because sensuality beats sexuality like paper beats rock.
The next morning, I stand with my back to him on my tiptoes and say: come look at the beach.
And, through his aviator glasses with his duffle bag by his side ready for his flight, he says: Look at you…