I come up to our bed room, you are naked on the bed. Your sunflower body lotion attaches to summer breezes discreetly as you smile a mischievous smile, a wink. “Hold that pose,” “I'll get a camera.” Coming back the linen sheet delicately drapes over your small round belly. I want the belly in the picture to shadow the rise between breasts and thighs. I want the belly you always were shy about until I convinced you over years running my hands over it as I ran them over your breasts, tracing pink nipples set in milk chocolate circles; the curve of your mound of curls and you allowed me to do this with fingers and lips. Women are meant to have bellies not flat like a boy's. Venus De Milo has a belly the world still admires. Aphrodite flaunts that region with hunger for birth--love, and desire. So allow me, dear to capture the philosophy the religion, the essence of the whole without the drape of linen.