She steps out from the sea wearing a white muslin dress; she shakes her head, the beads of water fly off her long hair in a crescent arc. Tiny sparkly beads break the warm air. The tiniest water molecules evaporate into a mist.
She wears the sexiest adornment ever. Not the pinkish rosebud nipples pressing against the translucent cloth nor the provocative curves, the swell of her breasts. It wasn’t even the cinch of her small waist.
Nor the allure of her eyes or moist fleshy lips that part into a smile.
There are many ways a woman can rage when looking at a goddess and curse.
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