poetry foreplay

you're so humble,

she says,

reading one of my poems

out loud.

i look at her playing 

with a loose

button

on my shirt.

flipping casually

through the pages of

my self-published book.

i am, aren't I?

i tell her.

i'm very humble.

i never blow my own

horn.

there's not

a look at me bone

in my body.

you're a genius, i think,

she says with a cat

like purr.

really?

yes, really.

but you don't know it,

do you?
pffft, i tell her,

then find the clasp

to the zipper

holding up her dress.