Object of Desire

May 14 2012

I was caught off-guard

when she quickly slipped her bra 
over her head,

ducking out

as if shucking a T-shirt.

This seemed like cheating,

after fumbling with her fussy clasps

with my blunt clammy fingers.

And I secretly missed

how a woman reaches back

to unclip.

The saucy arch

of her body.

Shoulder blades

like small delicate wings,

moving freely

under smooth brown skin.

Her perky breasts, vulnerable neck,

flitting pulse

extended.

Done so matter-of-factly,

as if a woman’s bra

were not

an object of desire.

Not one more mystery

in the forbidden world

of girls.

Not skimpy, or sheer

under-wired, fortified, formidable

but simply practical,

an article of clothing

like any other.

Then quickly peeling skinny jeans

inside-out
snagging feet,

she sling-shots off 
cotton socks

and wriggles down her panties.

Awkward, self-conscious
rushed,

but nothing like that bra.

Which I would have loved to watch.

The beauty of a woman’s back.

Urgency

tempered by shyness.

Her wilful compliance,

smiling at me

as she surrenders herself.

But she was fast

and practical

and we couldn’t wait.

Next time

I will teach her to be slow
learn to be patient.

Instruct her in the male gaze,

the give-and-take

of temptation.

Gently explain
how creative minds
can improve upon nature;

the erotic arts

of anticipation

self-restraint.