Oftentimes I find my self entranced
in how you'll catch me at a glance
when you first walk through our front door.
Will my leg dangle to the floor
with mischevious intent, my breast
concave inside itself and dressed
translucent in skin, glowing radiant
in what I reflect, a moon grey slate,
from your light source?
A celestial body on its course,
will I eclipse myself in the blinding dark
of an unconscious development
that lends me trembles delicate,
a slumbering lunar element circumvented
by a halo of blonde curls, suspended?
I spend centuries predicting
the me's I have and will depict,
yet it never is as I intend it.
You gravitate to me, unrestricted,
because we find ourselves addicted
to each other's whole, unscripted.