It is always worse when she wears white
Not just her, any woman,
But with her mouth and eyes,
An added distraction,
I can’t stop staring,
A white blouse giving shape
To what my imagination
Has already painted,
That stirring beneath
I ache to see, to touch, to taste,
Stirring up the broth in me
That needs no more stirring,
Like frosting on a cake
I already ache to eat,
Not a sign of virginity
The way the nuns used to tell me,
Nor the symbol of a bridal purity,
But the moment of things
Underneath drawing out of me
The most primal of urges,
That keeps me from thinking
Of anything else,
Even her eyes, even her lips,
When she comes in wearing white
My brain freezes and all I can think of
Is getting underneath
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