Look Closely

Don't you see what I want
as I bend over
to recover my stockings
from the arm of the chair?

From the arm of the chair
your fingers curled around
while your muscles
clenched into tight knots.

Clenched into tight knots
because you pushed deep
inside the personal, where
no other man has ever touched.

No other man has ever touched
my heart so carefully,
nor let me taunt his sated need
as I ask the question.

As I ask the question
I can sense your interest
when I bend over.
Don't you see what I want?