Practice

I practice swinging my hips when I walk.
I'm perfecting my fly trap eyes,
lowered lashes to ensnare you.
I'm in the mirror, hours to know
The right amount of leg with what heel.
I'm playing with color to illuminate
My eyes making them undeniable.
Gloss to seal the deal.
I won't play games, just looks.
I know more than you think.

At home I've practiced moving my body to look
Longer, leaner, sleeker, slimmer.
I'm moving airily past the people,
Sitting down lightly across the room.
I'm watching you through a side long glance
To make you sure it lasted more than a second.
I take care and touch everything
With only lingering fingertips.
I know what my hair's doing
To frame my face.
And what my halfway smirk does when I look away.
I'm anything but indifferent to you.
My vices built out of stone,
I know what I'm doing.

When I clearly look at you,
I give a soft fleeting smile.
I push up off the chair and walk out that door.
After all,
It's just practice.

October third, two thousand and eight.