Perfection

Perfection lies below the six rib, just in the belly. Perfection comes from the right to left, goes down to the hips and never ends, though it has definite limits. It looks at in good shape. It is stylised and well defined. It has lines where they should be and fantastic curves that change the place you are.

Perfection can be held in your hands, but its very nature is free. It feels soft and tender. Each piece of it can be touched thousand times, and it will feel different, new, alive. It has shone in the body hair, they're so delicate that can be almost imperceptible, so touchable that it is sweet. 

Perfection has a scar because that's what perfection should be. Round, cute, just in the middle. Some furtive decoration there drives to heaven. It has delicate borders, mountains, valleys. It seems you have all geographical regions in that small place, just in the point of your fingers. It seems that infinite has reduced to the touch of my hand.

Perfection moves at a constant rhythm, making the signs of life almost imperceptible. Perfection's borders are clear, just across the obliques, coming and going like infinite roads, like the way to heaven.

Perfection is only one part of what amazing it is.