She studies herself
in the full-length mirror.
She knows that he cannot see her, does not see her, may never see her.
Yet she turns through three hundred and sixty degrees.
Aware of her breasts beneath the shirt, her arse and her thighs, tight in her jeans, the way the morning light touches her skin.
She runs her hands through her hair and lets it fall.
She hopes he likes the way she looks.
And though his eyes may never find her
She still seeks his approval.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic
Written some years ago. Reposted because I like it.
Art by Jeremy Mann
A Faded Romantic's Notebook 
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