The thought crossed my mind
like you did,
when you walked across the room
wearing that old T-shirt of mine.
The almost sunlight
made your skin glow,
electric blue/grey.
You were meant for someone else
and these moments are stolen.
Pilfered memories
from some poor soul,
who will never know
the touch of fingertips
and teeth on soft flesh,
and hot sweat on cold mornings,
and two bodies,
stiffening when the waves hit.
Never knowing the collapsing
into sheets, bunched
into seafoam clouds
that cradle our satiated hunger,
for a little while at least.
You were never meant
for company, or friendship,
but maybe to be on the arm
of some powerful businessman,
a captain of industry,
a crime boss, or a diplomat.
Once, I thought you were a spy,
but there was no gun in your purse,
just chewing gum and lots of receipts
from the coffee shop.
You’ve really got to clean that thing out.
But, I digress;
as much and as often as I can.
Perhaps to keep your attention
for a few moments longer.
To get one more chance
to run my fingers
through your soft hair,
feel your skin pressed against me,
the heat of your breath on my face, my neck, my chest…
That half-light vision,
of you in that old, black T-shirt,
Like the mother of the morning
and the daughter of the night.
You were never meant to be mine,
so I stole you.
HG – 2016
