The Touch I Can Never See

We slip from our cars, a silent scene,  

and I see her—the creature I crave.  

In a tight, short,  black skirt, lean and clean,  

she bends clutching her purse, a shadowed wave.  

Her curves whisper beneath taut seams,  

a silent call my eyes can’t refuse.  

From ankle to chest, a waking dream,  

lost in the lines I’m hungry to lose.  

A breeze stirs softly, sweet as a sigh,  

lifting my dress to reveal bare thigh.  

The slit, too high for daylight’s grace,  

exposes my skin, my secret place.  

I shift, I sway—a wordless plea,  

hoping she sees, hoping she feels like me.  

Our heels tap time, a rhythm shared,  

toward the steel tower where we disappear.  

Her scent—lavender, earth, fresh rain—  

fills my lungs, a soft, sharp pain.  

Lush dark wet red lips, a Cabernet wine,  

match her fiery hair, almost divine.  

At the elevator, I hold back, let her pass,  

and she slips to the wall, against the glass.  

I step in close, her warmth aligned,  

my shoulders brush hers, a pulse I find.  

Her firm chest pierces my silk, heat alive beneath,  

a silent pulse, a bittersweet wreath.  

In mirrored walls, our glances catch,  

a chase of shadows we barely match.  

Each look a spark, a forbidden flame,  

a touch reflected, wet lips without name.  

Our breath held tight, a stolen light,  

heartbeats quickening out of sight.  

The car begins; I graze her hand,  

our fingers tremble, a silent demand.  

Through sheer white silk blouse, my desires unveiled,  

her eyes linger where warmth exhaled.  

A sigh escapes, her fingers slide,  

a fire unspoken we cannot hide.  

Silence. The doors sigh open, she's gone, a trace—  

cold stale air rushes in, fills her empty place.  

Tears prick my eyes, the sharp, sweet sting  

of a shadowed dream that can’t take wing.  

Tomorrow awaits, another city, another stage,  

but her touch remains, a ghost on the page—  

a nameless memory, forever replayed.