Striptease

Eyes watch eyes until the blue drops
to fingertips splayed across breasts, smoothing
fabric taut, a second layer smeared on skin
so close the pores gasp for breath.
Lower, the fingers seek something, any
thing that the torture of clothing reveals -
skin between buttons, downed zipper
where a tongue might touch. Deep

breathing bears the sign of arousal,
the scent of that cyclic spiraling of need
rousing once-dampened temper to a point
where fabric edges frustration,
where silence should be filled
with the sounds of skin rubbing on skin
and tongues mating. The preoccupation
of faces and feeling, a buffer

as piece by glorious piece, clothes
find their way to the floor and air
on skin is all that is left to imagine.