How sweet it is
To watch  the disruption
Of my slightest touch
Upon a knee,
A wrist
A hand
A thigh,
That fractional loss
Of coherent thought
Engendered by what may have been
But accident,

How delicious to extrapolate,
To sense the nascent effect of
More overt intervention,
A palm slid gathering
A skirts material,
Or lips insistence upon
Goosebumped flesh,
Even as the conversation
Carries on all innocent
Above the surface yet,
How very
Very
Guilty underneath