THERE’S NO SINGLE DETAIL THAT I’M ABLE TO FOCUS ON. I want it all. The way her upper lip curls up even when she’s not smiling – like mine. The way her eyebrows are thick, dark slashes above those eyes. How her irises expand (coming below me, above me, next to me), how her eyes narrow, making me want to know what has upset her, where she has gone in her mind. (I don’t ask. Asking means losing control. But I want to ask.) Onward: her large nose, jutting forward; I like it. Her chin. The small dimple in it – why is even this negative space demanding I not look away? I can’t look away.
The freckles. Scattered gold that forms into a pattern but not a pattern at all; there’s too many of them.
Her belly, elastic and long; the pubic bone; the severely trimmed puff of curls; her p***y a wet, warm
