The psychiatrist looks young
he seems Italian
she sits opposite
looking at his eyebrows

thick
but not too much so
and his lips opening
and closing as he speaks

but she isn’t listening
she’s wondering
if he’s married
where about he lives

what size his house is
how he looks undressed
he leans forward
his words slower now

as if he thinks her
imbecilic or maybe deaf
he emphasizes his words
his Italian accent

coming through
o what wonderful eyes
what flesh
his 9.0’clock shadow

gives a blue tinged
to his skin
he gestures with hands
opening them outward

like some trader
selling her something dodgy
she can smell his aftershave
it invades her nose

makes her nerves tingle
her knees touch
she lets them spread
beneath the desk

to the limits
her nightdress allows
he sits back in his chair
his words back

to fast speed
over her head
his gestures
are by fingers now

pointing and twirling
his eyes dark
intense like Nietzsche’s
she thinks

she leans forward
air pushing
between her thighs
as she spreads

her legs
as much as possible
under his desk
life’s one big adventure

she thinks
one big dare
she puts her elbows
on his desktop

wearing no underwear
but he doesn’t know
it doesn’t show
but if it did

what then?
what would he say or do?
the window is open
the sky a bright blue.