Your skirt does you too much justice
While my shaky and numbing fingers, trying to disengage it
Are wearying to us both

And I can see bemusement in your eyes
And that lingering skepticism
As to what we’re doing here

But you do so like my intervening lips
Upon your neck and the wraith-like touch of
Fingertips along your waist.

And I still have enough fire so that
My proximity causes ripples in your thighs
While I struggle again with this damnable skirt

Finally, you turn and undo it yourself
Tired of the prologue and willing me to
Begin the play with my last, best song

And you know I still know the tune
And how to play the instruments
And how willing you are to have me pluck your violin

I just wish we had played a little more
When I was younger, and you were not
As coy or uncertain as you were then

Waiting for me to make the moves that
I am making now, yet so terrified of
Their consequence we never got the chance

Still, it lingered in you, the wondering
And the passion never died in me
As you, sighing softly, now willingly attest.

Well, to my credit, I’ve always been a patient man

11/27/2012

Posted on 11/27/2012
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