Therapeutic

He sits there

So composed

Telling me his life story

In no particular order

Spilling secrets like sugar,

Sweet, all over me

He is so self-aware.

And I watch him grow

As he takes apart his life

And rebuilds it in his mind

In a way that makes sense.

He is so self-aware.

I blush often.

I hope he is not so aware of me.

As I cross my legs, trying

To remove the tingle I feel as he speaks.

His voice, like honey

Sooths me

As it trickles into my ear

Where I now, to my shame

Wish his whispers would float

At night.

He often looks at me

And smiles

Like a flash of sunlight

On a wing mirror.

I’m like a girl again.

Pathetic really.

I wore black trousers

And white buttoned up blouse

Always.

Until him.

Each week I dared a little more,

Subconsciously at first, to tempt him.

A skirt, quite long

But shorter each week;

A looser blouse

And thinner, so it showed the outline of my bra.

Soon I left a button open

Then two

Or one midway down

Accidentally open

For him to glance inside.

Blouses got thinner

Bras got darker

Skirts got shorter

Buttons! I just want to rip them all off

And shout

Look!

Look at me!

Look what I’m offering you!

Take me

For fuck’s sake

Please

Take me now!

As his voice flows like honey

And his eyes search his past,

Fixing his life

As he destroys mine.