… And this is what we call liberation

Skin
the colour of day-old satsumas
stretches across tired cheekbones.
Eyebrows arched, always curious
lips red and moist
part in instructed surprise.
Thighs
the width of knees
quiver in the light
which bounces off waxy surfaces.

Baby's buttocks
are wrapped in a g-string;
acres of smooth skin
strapped in.

No hair out of place
but mostly,
no hair at all.
And pale blue eyes
blanketed in passivity
half-close
in anticipation and submission, both.
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