You saw me naked.
Completely. Undressed.
At midnight, probably, when the world was quiet and I wasn’t.
But tell me
how many stitches do I have on my left hand?
You saw skin
Not the naked truth
Can you undress me
without touching a single button?
Can you strip the shame from my spine,
the memory from my knees,
the fear from the corner of my mouth?

You can’t.
And you didn’t.
So don’t tell me you’ve seen me.