The last time you wore that blouse,
there were eight buttons done up.

I remember, because my fingers
trembled with nervous energy.
They were fixated on them.
No, mesmerized by them.
Begging to undo them,
button by delicious button.
Eight buttons. Eight.

I see you're wearing it again today.

Oh, miracle of miracles!
Today there are seven. 

Only seven.

The eighth button dangles provocatively, 
like every word
spoken between us.

My mind races,
as I hold my breath
in anticipation.
Heart
fluttering like
the wings of some small caged bird
longing to be set free

I know. 
I *know* with certainly
that my work is done.

Calmness descends.

I have decided to wait
and watch,
because you are mine now,
having given yourself
without reservation

Only seven buttons today.
Only seven

I know that in time,
you will slowly undress for me.