coquet

i put down my Guardian,
remove my cardigan,
other clothes follow
slowly,
sliding seductively
to the floor
i’m a snake shedding its skin
peeling
revealing
on the hunt
for some healing

garments slip
i bite my lip
in anticipation
of emancipation

But then the doctor turns around and says,
“You can keep your underpants on, Mr Bilston.”

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