sonnets is what I do, mostly --
Putting Clothes Away
Lazy, I lie in bed and watch you bend
Over the drawer, knees apart, your dress
Barely reaching your thighs. I don't intend
To take you from your work, just caress,
Lightly, your supple calf, but then my hand
Gets notions of its own and when you stop,
A little, noticing, moves on. You stand
Up half annoyed and half about to drop
Every stitch. My fingers undo folds
Of flesh and find the button just inside --
My breath unravels when you press, then hold
My hand away. "You stop it now!" you chide --
"Get up! I told you there was work to do --
We'll see how that thing fits when we get through."
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