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.