She wears a white blouse and I go ape shit inside my head,
unable not to visualize what lies beneath, the duel projection of her chest,
the points that poke out the front and swell along the sides, a blouse tucked
into her trousers all the way around, though in my mind I also imagine the
tales touching that other spot down deep, and while I – like that poet long ago
– thinking how lucky that shirt it to touch so many places I ache to touch, and
I wonder how it would feel to be her shirt and touch those sacred place all at
the same time, how I would love to pop open each button and expose what lay
beneath, this white shirt, glowing, growing in my imagination until I can think
of nothing else, nor look elsewhere, this white shirt she wears tucked around
all the right places, leaving me to admire the outcome.
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