You leave like a secret,
slow and deliberate,
a whispered promise
traced in the curve of your hip.
I could drown in the rhythm
of your retreat;
each step a verse,
each glance a hook,
pulling me deeper
into the sin of watching you go.
Your dress clings like a confession,
your shadow a silhouette of temptation.
I’m no saint,
but I’ll kneel for the way
you tease the air,
the way you let the door
linger just a breath too long.
Hate to see you go,
but love;
oh, how I love...
to watch you leave.