green shirt

I like your green shirt.
You wear it out at your hips,
and undone at your throat
to the perfect balance between promise and secrecy.

I like your glasses.
Your dark hair sometimes rests on the place
where the bow meets the frame,
and curves around it in a way that just undoes me.

Though I love them on you,
how I long to remove your shirt,
--gently--
your glasses
--gently--
with fingertips and long kisses.

Tonight my sleep will be slow in coming,
for thinking of you, your name, and these desires.
Then, in the silent hour, I will dream of pine forests
and streams that bend to reflect the stars.
_______