The Carpet

by Mary Brunini McArdle

I step lightly on the carpet,
Heading towards the window
Where I pull aside the sheers
And peer into the shadows.
The street lamp delineates
An empty curb
And a deserted city block.

I wonder – will he call again
Before he comes?
The softness of the carpet
On the soles of my bare feet
Feels like a quiet caress.

Women, you must know,
Are attracted by sound
And touch, while men will
Favor scent and sight.
I think of him and of
His voice, and a flame
Begins between my toes
And sets the long tips
Of my hair afire.

And it is not just he,
But the male voice itself.
With my eyes closed,
I need nothing but that sound,
And the warmth
Of the plush carpet to send
A tremor all along my frame.
My delight increases as I hear
His car door slamming shut.