I Dream of You

I shouldn’t be here, staring at electrons
dance on the too-bright screen,
dreaming you nude
and unsuspecting.

Shouldn’t be dreaming of the
convex curve above your arse,
 soft velveteen under my palm.

Backs of your thighs
morph into curves
 of satiny thin skin
  behind your knee, free
   of the slightly wiry hair
    elsewhere.

Shouldn’t be imagining your hip,
running my fingers down,
 tasting your skin your skin your skin…

I shouldn’t be nipping at your lip,
your tongue tangling with mine,
 tasting your dew…

What wouldn’t I give for one more fix
of you, soul-stripping screams,
of desperate love that nearly kills.