Don’t touch me yet.

Just stand there.

Look at me

like your hands are already aching

from holding back.

Let your eyes trace

everything I was taught to hide—

the belly,

the thighs,

the way my softness dares you

to come closer

and lose yourself in it.

I know what you’re thinking.

You want to know

if I taste as good

as I look like I do.

You’re right.