My wife comes down the stairs,
modeling her orange blouse.
The look of delight and satisfaction
on her face puts every cynic to shame.
“It’s staggering,” I say dumbly
over my choice of words.
She shows it off front and back,
playing, smoothing the ruffles,
unbuttoning with the nimbleness
of a heart surgeon, standing topless
with her hands on her hips, the blouse
splayed across my favorite chair,
staggering—I got it right the first time.