The Final Score

I tried everything
to get your attention.
Wore the low-cut
feminine shirts that reveal
too much, but yet not enough. 

Jeans so tight
that each curve
damn near bust at the seams. 
Not to mention with each step
the seam found your neglect. 

The cheap thrill of touch,
pressure riding back and forth
at each step, bend, or stir.
If only you knew how wet I was.
I smiled, such a small delight.

Pouring your coffee
my imagination ran off
with the spoon and jumped
over the f***ing moon,
oh what bliss!!!! 

You looked at me,
as if I’d lost my mind.
Without a second thought
you turned to the sports page
and read the head lines.

Walking across the kitchen floor
who would  have thought
I would be the one
to score a touch down!

I win, you lose.