Taking the train to you.
The coach jostles with smoothness, silver and gray,
the train rocks northward, coming to you in the city,
gray above blue.
I imagine you often, what clothes you'd wear, then think
how I'd undress you; images of your nakedness quietly draw
smiles onto my face. I share my delight secretly.
Each of us riding within that coach, corralling private
thoughts; sometimes eyes make contact, strangers across
an isle, faces shyly peer above cushioned fence-lines,
secret smiles come into light.
Sometimes our train vibrates, singing to itself over
hard-cast ribbons, releasing a teasing shudder,
merging flesh and thoughts' imagining;
rattling my cock, small shivers thinking of you; then
some woman riding nearby, close at hand; I glimpse a hint,
desiring face, reflected shadows in the window glass:
what lover do you seek, beside you?
Flesh presses jeans tight as she lays across her seat;
eyes close. What dreams?
Another life away, yet within dreaming.
Sharing this common motion.
I wonder what bridges this gulf?
Like this freedom, coming into sense and trust,
feeling-found with you.
Freedom to let touch live. This intended compassion is far
from passive; resolved - it must be used, must be expressed.
The thought of undressing you moves me,
images dart into and around my remembering,
as water passes, embraces a stone within its' path.
Light flickering within these flames;
Gray clouds in slivers of reflection, passing narrow pools
beside the tracks, gone before each vision becomes clear.
Jump to the next before time passes.
I think of soft cotton, feeling your breasts beneath fabric,
naked beneath desire; curves move, rising, falling.
Leading my caress into promises revealed.
Finding buttons one by one, till my hand glides within,
warm soft arch, nipples respond, one by one.
I think of your short skirt draped over belly and repeated
curve of ass, pliant, generous in response to my touch;
without panties beneath, thoughts race just before my hands,
over thighs and tender ass, without resistance,
silken sense falls into the soft folds of your cunt,
within reach, yet beyond sight,
the stretch and texture of your desire;
this garden blooms tonight, delight comes home.
We make our final curve, turn past pillars,
labored thoughts and dreams, into the city;
we are close, nearly together.
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