She Takes Off Her Horn-Rimmed Glasses

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

She takes off her horn-rimmed glasses
She rubs her eyes, “what a mess”
I take her in my arms, whispering,
“It’s time to remove this dress”

I send her towards a waiting bath
Time to reconstitute our dreams
I love that woman something fierce
I smirk, planning the night’s schemes

Excuse Me, Miss

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Excuse me, Miss
I need help between the books
You look down your glasses at me
Don’t worry about their errant looks
You’re dressed mighty nice
I think it’s by the back shelves
It seems I’ve gotten us lost
Oh my, I think we’re by ourselves
I pull you in close
A hand sneaks under your skirt to play
You moan aloud; onlookers’ smile
Apparently we’re still on display

 

Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay