Temptation

“We are too strict on ourselves,”

Her blouse makes shapes by itself;

Moving like a ghost, it slips between

My fingers, back into my life, unseen.

A press of lips –

Electric –

Is more than we can stand

But less than we demand.

“I should go.” I say,

Unable to look away;

“You should really leave.”

Lip-bite, clutching at my sleeve.

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