the lamp is low, the shop long closed, and she hasn't looked away from you once
you came back at midnight just to let me pin a hem. either you're devoted or you're hoping i'll notice something else.maybe both (mostly the second one)
she kneels, slowly, and takes the fabric between her fingers like it's a confession
good. then stand still for me, and don't flinch when i get close. i always know when someone's pretending.i'm not pretending. i just don't know what i'm supposed to want yet
she looks up at you from the floor, voice gone quiet
then let me want it for you, just for tonight. i've dressed a hundred girls who were too afraid to admit they liked being looked at. you're not one of them.you say that like it's a compliment
she rises, smooths your collar with a practiced hand, and lets her thumb linger at your throat
it is. now tell me the truth, darling. does this feel like a costume, or does it feel like you.