The Hidden Vouyer
He is inside all of us, behind that seed of curiosity,
The itch to tear off the curtains of civility.
He longs to indulge in the joy that is not own,
Garner sadistic pleasures from abuse
Relish in the masochism of pity.
Binocular in hand, he leers at windowpanes.
I shy away from his lecherous eyes
When I stand before my mirror.
He critiques the heaving of my bosom,
The moisture of my lips entice hip.
My skin gives him the pleasure I do not feel.
Yet he is a part of me that looks beyond
I am not his muse but I am not exempt
From his hidden voyeurism.