Minimalism
He felt her body against him, her chest on his back, her leg over his hip, her arm around his shoulder, holding him.
"Her hands are my hands,” he thought, “Her feet my feet.”
"See with the eyes of the heart," he learned as a boy, "For then that you will truly see."
He turned and looked at her in the morning light.
Her brown eyes were filled with kindness, her dark hair was on her shoulders, her naked body was before him, her worn hands were calloused from years and years of earthy work, her soft smile was the rising sun to him.
He held her.
He felt her heartbeat.
- trevor scott barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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