that look that peels away your skin (you know the one)
it spreads cold fingers down her legs
raises bumps along her skin
that you said was milky smooth
almost too much to touch
but did so anyway
with your eyes
the feeling of them on her
doesn’t rinse off in the shower
nor after a week
but lingers
and whispers
and reminds
that to you she is only meat
This poem is about:
Me