Undressing at night is a queer sensation,
When all the hidden eyes turn to watch,
A cotton shirt slipping off a soft shoulder,
And then later, sleeping peacefully,
Those hidden hands come up to
Lay a still press against that soft body,
Causing a shock and a breathless pause.
These hidden masses slink in corners
Where the dark is darker
And the dust settles heavier,
They skitter frolicly away upon discovery,
And possibly a muted scratch of laughter
Can be heard, but otherwise silence dominates,
In those ticking seconds afterwards,
When people shake their heads
and blame it on the dream.