His eyes are doing it again.
When we speak, his eyes have a habit of running away from mine. Where will they land today, Colonel?
Will you look at my figure, with that peculiar gleam? The one I hope means you want what I want?
Will you stare at my hair? I swear I've seen your hand start to move toward it before you realized what you're doing.
My legs? My neck? My lips?
Why won't you meet my eyes, Colonel? Is it because your eyes might also say what I let mine say?
My eyes say "Yes."
Do yours?
The End
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