A lovely poem:
Don’t think
that I don’t know
that as you talk to me
the hand of your mind
is inconspicuously
taking off my stocking,
moving in resourceful blindness
up along my thigh.
Don’t think
that I don’t know
that you know
everything I say
is a garment.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ixngpy/poet_anne_stevenson_passed_away