No time like the present

Here's an old poem. It's been reworked many times over the years. Was included in a one-off chapbook that I made for my husband a couple of years ago. 

Let's just say, a habit was broken today. No picture with this one, hahaha.

Habitual

Lunchtime. They sit across

from each other. Her mind turns

towards thought of

not lunch.

He turns pages. Another how-to

book spread open before his staid

reading glasses. If only

she could somehow

turn his thoughts;

make condensation that clings to his glass

remind him of sweat  trickling down flushed skin,

chips of ice pressed between teeth bring

to mind hardened nipples,

his grilled sandwich with cheese warm and melted

would evoke soft flesh between legs.

She turns back to her meal,

he closes his book, never knows

her thoughts.