Imaginary Touch

It was the dead of night when she
Felt his warm hand upon her knee.
His touch was hot. Her skin was cold.
His hand went up, a move so bold.
She bit her lip, no words to say,
That hand, it moved up all the way.
She closed her eyes, so she could see
Those parting lips which sets her free.
That hand, the lips, the strokes, the touch,
Unleashed her inner beasts and such.
There was a plunge, there was a gasp,
Yet none to hug, no one to grasp.
No arm embraced her arching back,
No eyes to watch her solo act.
Undressed, she panted in her bed,
Made love with someone in her head.