There’s something in his scent,
The way his skin feels on mine.
It’s in his smile and the way his eyes are shifty.
Makes me uneasy,
Then he speaks,
Steady, relevant conversations,
All the right syllables,
But the subtext is suspect,
Do you hear it?
Hidden beneath the chatter?
Like the slithering of a snake,
“I’m dangerous, I’m wicked,
I know you see me.”
It inspires a shiver,
This one will do things if left unseen,
This one is a mystery,
But this one is a thing,
You can’t bear to let near you.
©Michelle Toussaint, All rights reserved