Sonnet 26 - Perfect For Me

You worry on your weight again. You’re sure
that you’re more, so less, than other women.
I have never seen you a pound over
lovely. A more discriminating man

might say what is wrong with your hips, your thighs,
and why. I can only tell you that hips
should always be shaped just so, and that size.
When I lie beside you and kiss your lips -

my hands traversing tummy, ribs, and side -
I rise to one elbow, marvel that such
beauty lies here. I knead your thigh, the white
wonder of your flesh so firm, yet soft, lush.

The ideal woman always left me cool.
You are perfect for me, or I'm a fool.