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.
