Dictation

What we have here is

another dedicated student

of Anatomy.

His eyes trace a scalpel thin line of

vision

down,

down,

down:

Yes,

those are breasts and then

Yes,

that's the waist and then

Yes,

there are the hips and then

Yes,

there's the final glance across the thighs.

He takes notes on the specifics of form

in the air with his hands and dictates

approval of the specimen with the

scientific terminology of wolf-whistles.

To him,

I am not a woman, but

the collective perfection of my pieces:

lips and eyes;

nose and collarbone;

hair and

the precise sway of my ass;

or maybe the gorgeous sheen

of midday sun off of

one well-manicured

middle

finger.