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Ahhh… the look of a woman. From her head to her toes, as a whole, or focusing on specific parts of her body….god.. it’s like watching a sunset and being able to freeze it at the peak of it’s beauty and just feel that hummm in your chest letting you know this… is something amazing.

It’s her hair. When sitting on the patio at a cafe, and the shine of her hair catches my eye. shiny strands of copper pennies in a sea of auburn illuminated by the strip of sunlight that rests there. Or the way it wraps around her fingers as she concentrates on reading. The way it would look fanned across my chest if she would lay her head to rest there.

It’s her eyes. It’s the look in her eyes when I…watch her… watch her children. It’s the way they meet mine and then move on. It’s the way they can find a SALE sign from hundreds of yards away. Its the way they dance when she’s about to do something devilish.

It’s her lips. God those lips and the way her tongue wipes ice cream from them. It’s the way her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth when she gets caught playing coy. It’s the way her lips part… ever so slightly just before I kiss her.

It’s her neck. Specifically the line of her neck that starts behind her ear and runs to the top of her collar bone when she turns her head. It’s the view of her hairline, as I hold her hair up in back, as it ends and turns into the shadow of her spine. It’s her throat as she tosses her head back in laughter.

It’s her breasts. The curve of her breasts beneath her shirt. The way they look with droplets of water streaming across them in the shower. The pale pinkish brown color of her nipples erect from the stroke of moonlight.

It’s her hands. The way a wine glass looks almost suspended in the curve of her fingers. The way her hand looks in mine. To watch them grab the sheets like fist-fulls of sand…. and the flatten out on white Egyptians.

It’s her curves. The curve of her waist leading to the curve of her hip with a downward line to the curve of her calf. It’s the curve of her ankle. It’s the curve of her back when she arches and the curve of her arm when she reaches for me.

It’s her legs. The way she crosses them when she wears a dress. The silhouette from behind the shower curtain of her leg as she gets ready to shave. The inner lines of her legs that meet … pointing the way to heaven.

It’s her feet. The tops of her feet as she walks barefoot in the grass. Her heel as she slides it into her pumps. Her toes… toe nails painted and happy. The curve of the arch of her foot that looks like it will fit perfectly in the curve of my hand.

From the top of her head to her toes….

It’s the Look.