Unwrapped Perfection

There’s nothing quite like her birthday suit—
No ribbons, tags, or lace to mute.
Just curves that whisper sweet delights,
And keep me up on school nights.

She drops her robe — a work of art,
A masterpiece that stops my heart.
No need for frills or stitched disguise,
I’d rather see her in her natural highs.

Those hips? A language all their own,
They speak in sighs and undertone.
That back? A path I’ve walked for years—
Still takes me places. Brings me tears.

The moon gets jealous when she glows,
My wife's bare skin — a warm repose.
And when she struts from bath to bed,
I’m lost. All thoughts go soft... or red.

So cheers to skin, to grace, to play,
To every line I trace each day.
And if you ask what love looks like—
It's her. In nothing. On my bike.

© Susie Stiles-Wolf