there’s something
overtly ****** about
her

something about those legs
or those *******
or those eyes

but it doesn’t arouse,
no,
it mystifies
it… tantalizes
it makes you want
more and nothing
less

when she struts
into the room your
thoughts don’t turn
to ******* and
then sleeping
and then *******
again

instead you look at her
and want to hold her,
to lay with her without
ever taking any clothes
off,
to kiss her,
but in a sweet way,
not with hunger or
lust

something about her
screams the call of a
breath-taking woman

but you don’t want
that
you want something
else, which you cannot
fully define

there’s something
odd about her

something not quite right,
and yet
perfectly fine…

to you,
for now,
at least.