I am naked

standing in front

of his camera

as he repositions

the tripod.

 

Moments earlier,

I was alone

in my apartment

draped in a bathrobe

an old lover

had given me

years and years

before.

The fleece

no longer

reminded me

of him.

 

Film on me

the skin I am in

flushes from the

rushing

of uncertainty

thrill of eyes

behind lens

points at bumps

rising up:

momentary

tattoos

of heartbeats

and shallow breath.

 

I stand here.

 

Focus.

Click click snap.

 

I stand there.

 

Focus.

Focus.

Click click snap.

 

The skin

I am in

shivers with

unhidden

truthfulness

of his camera’s

gentle

exposure.

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