Taking Off My Top

You sit on the couch,
I stand before you.
You noticed me outside,
a minute before
washing my car
my jeans of blue, my t-shirt of white.

You urge me and you urge me,
so eagerly
to take off my top.
And so I listen,
and I notice your bottom lip glisten with spit.
I reach down to the bottom of my top
and very slowly peel it over my head.

Revealing myself,
my stomach, my ribs,
and I hear you gasp, when I expose my tits.

I gently lift it off for good,
the collar teasing my long locks of hair.
I let my t-shirt drop to the floor,
and here I am before you:
stomach quivering and excited,
tits standing out,
nipples hard,
lips curved into a smile.