the cottony curtains
exhale
fresh breath from
beyond glassed
windows
croaking
like widowed
frogs
wanting mates
and I sit to
appreciate
the ways
to bait you
into my bed.
propriety
and modesty
are dead
weight
when all
it takes
is
shaved legs
silken smiles
and brazen gazes
to burn ablaze
this pile of pillows.
say you will
oh, and we can dance
with our curtains
like slippery amphibians
until night becomes day again
