Watching you dress
The evening
For me.
Sliding up your panties
Over your buttocks
Your fingers releasing
The elastic band
With a soft snap
Like the sigh
That escapes your lips
When they meet mine.
The underwired bra
Clasped expertly at the back
With your long be-ringed fingers
And your breasts adjusted
To hide
And to show.
The black dress. Short. Tight.
Stepped into daintily. And pulled up
Zipped, shoulders showing
Like a mountain top somewhere
Far away, shimmering
In the full moon.
Next. Perfume.
Chanel No 5
Misted over
Your shoulder blades.
Sharply.
The lipstick. Dark.
Applied in two coats
One over the other
Like the sheets
That lie behind you
On the afternoon bed.
Then, the 3-inch heels.
Black. And leather, of course
Which you wear
Balancing on each leg
Like a ballerina
Practising in the mirror.
The hair is last.
Blown. Combed. Teased.
Caressed. Flounced. Fondled.
Until it looks exactly
Like you spent no time
On it at all.
As you turn to look
At me looking
At you
Get dressed
I note the order
In which later at night
It will all
Come off.
