perfect scene.

her legs dangled from the swing like twigs, hardly catching the sunlight. her skin was so brown it glistened, causing the light to dance across her calves, up to her knees. the paisley dress started halfway up her thigh, almost too short, but leaving just enough to the imagination. the seat of the swing was made from oak, splitering with age. bearing beneath her weight which wasn't much, it ached against her legs. the splinters massaged her vessels, teasing them, craving to break skin. the dress was like a preview of what was beneath it all, a simple set of screens before the main film. her elbows were hanging, her hands gripping the rope tightly. it was rough beneath her fingers. as she sway back and forth, the wind caught the top of her blouse, gently using its fingers to find a way to unbutton the top of her dress. her hair was longer then her shoulders, easily covering her entire face. as she sway again, she tilted her head back in ecstasy. her mouth created a smile so serene no angel could even come close. she directed her joy towards heaven, while gravity began to pull her back to earth. the straps began to fall lose, falling off her golden shoulders. her eyes were like glitter, catching every bit of light that found its way through the leaves and branches. she held her head so high with such grace. her lips were like pillows, that any man in his right mind would love to lay his lips upon. she sat there, waiting, and waiting. for a man to come and pry her from her tree swing. pull her from her tree swing. and place his pillow lips against hers.