I would wear your panties,
if I could,
but I’m not a frills and lace kind of guy,
and I couldn’t strap on your bra
because it just doesn’t offer me proper support.
I would walk in your high heels,
but I have already broken the high of your heels
one too many times.
Your skirt wears like Larry Bird’s shorts
and I bust your blouse like the Hulk does his shirt.
But your bathroom is a playground of
eyeliner, lipstick, and blush.
In the morning,
when we wake, tangled together
by our legs, our arms, and your sheets,
and I see my toothbrush next to yours,
you in the bedroom,
shimmying into your dress
explicitly exotic,
unknowingly erotic,
I reach for the toothpaste
and pick up your toothbrush.
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