The Peeper

Every morning I peep out of my window in hopes I will catch you playing in your garden.

Yesterday, you turned twenty. I left a rose in one of the notches on the lattice paneling around your porch, and was pleased to see you stroke it across your collar bone as you talked to yourself in your vanity mirror. Who were flirting with, my lady?

Today, I sat drenched in my own sweat at the sight of you prancing around outside, dipping low to pluck a sweet little flower from out of your garden.

Your breast slipped out of your delicately thin white top, and when you stood up it was delightful to see how oblivious you were to the warm breeze caressing your soft supple skin. How I hungered for you then. How badly I wanted my tongue to slide up and down your chest-if only I were the wind.

Tonight, while you undress in front of your window like you tend to do, I will be staring out of mine, grabbing onto that part of me that I dream one day will be a part of you. I could just kiss the nape of your neck and put my hand around it to bend you over and separate your.....   Forget it.  I feel like pulling out my hair in frustration, my lady! You tease me so.    Won't you come over to give me a basket of flowers or maybe a vegetable so I can  invite you in to see where I grow mine!