Strip
Another night I sit at the computer instead
of dancing a fancy jig with a japanese fan
or putting on the perfect shade of red lipstick
and eating pastry encrusted crab cakes
with buerre blanc and scallions
blowing off the advances of an old flame
while calling a cab and lighting
my own cigarette
Looking at the moonlight through my lover's hair is
impossible because we never
get to see each other
And we are always too embarassed
To meet the other's gaze after our own
endeavors to become more like ourselves
backfire in our respective faces
and shame us into
behaving as if no one cared in the first place
I will still sniff the air around me
and determine if you are still fit for my bed.
Take your clothes off, please.
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