I saw her naked
long
before I actually
saw her naked,
a surprise gift of photographs
she slipped in between
the parade
of portraits
I have become so addicted to,
a strange
show of trust
I'm not completely certain I deserve,
not that I'd dare show them to anyone
or even
look at them
except in the dead of night,
in secret
like a teenage boy
looking at
playboy under the covers,
only she is no fantasy
the way
playboy always was,
even though she is every much
as pretty
as the models
who get paid so much more
to show
all they have for all of us,
a private peep show
I feel
guilty indulging in,
even
though I do indulge,
at those times when
I feel
utterly alone,
my angel in the center fold
just for me.
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