The Interview

Lovely black tresses
spiral past her bare shoulders
and that wine-coloured dress
tightly wrapped  
barely holds her
 
A web of black upon white
in a minimal pattern
stops above the knee
I catch a glimpse  
of sheer satin
 
Checkerboard panties
ivory square at her core
compels my inquisitive mind
to want a little more
 
It would be less distracting  
if she sat behind her desk,
but the skyscraper window
provides an adequate ledge
 
The interview continues
and she keeps getting closer
can she see that I've tented
while trying to keep my composure
 
I scramble to answer
the questions seem more like riddles
is it her intoxicating presence
or with my mind, does she fiddle?
 
I stammer and trip,
my words spill out like a novice
her shape perfectly gripped
in the clutch like a bodice.
 
I am quickly dismissed
while she buzzes an assistant,
anything that I've said  
seems incredibly distant.