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Personal Note:
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Poem
As much as I love to watch her undress
and anticipate what her reasons for doing so might be,
I find nothing more erotic than to watch her step out of the morning shower
and begin to prepare herself for the coming day.

I lay in bed, pretending to still sleep,
sans the clothing that encumbers my peaceful rest,
secretly watching her go about the morning rituals.

Wrapping a towel around her wet hair while standing in front of the full length mirror,
taking a sideways glance in my direction to make sure I am still asleep,
which I feign so well,
before twisting and turning her torso to make sure no parts were oddly misshaped in the night.

Wriggling into a pair of undies, of various shapes and colors,
making sure they fit perfectly to flatter her curves
and applying makeup before going on her search for a misplaced brassier.

The faces she makes in the mirror that she flips back and forth
to alternately magnify then reflect her image 
highlighted through the artful application of makeup,
make me smile.

I cannot prevent the twitching and rising of the sheet covering my manhood.

Then, the head towel is removed and her hair spills out.
The raised arms brushing and blow-drying her hair 
provides the opportunity I needed to feast on her, still bare, supple breasts.

By now, she is pleased by, but pretends not to notice the affect she has on me.

When, finally, she spies a bra that suits her wardrobe selection,
I watch her carefully place each breast in the cup provided,
making the necessary adjustments for comfort,
before she begins ironing those items which she next will don.

The graceful dance she performs around the ironing board,
first with her blouse, then with her pants or skirt,
I openly watch and enjoy, 
no longer feeling the need to hide my level of awareness.

Having completed her morning’s preparedness,
she approaches me for a good-bye kiss,
smiles at me, 
reaches under the covers to where I have grown,
kisses me lightly on the cheek,
and says,
“Later”.

I love mornings.
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