The Café at Four with you a Thousand Miles Away


Warm breath on the back of my neck,
fingers against my cheek,
hands grazing sore nipples and sliding down
between my damp thighs…

A silver-haired woman stares at me,
and I know she knows
I know she remembers how it feels
muscles tense, and blood pounding
skin against wet skin;
she flushes, and crosses her legs…

I admit, it feels good,
your hand, right there, yes…there.
It could be so much better,
it will be so much better
but for now…

For now, my dear,
I hate to say it, but…
do you mind?
I’m trying to work.