Watching

He sits in a café day after day
and watches the young females,
long of leg
and lithe of arm,
who come to sit
and drink
their coffee or their tea
while gazing at their smartphones’ screens
as if the glass were then
a dark queen’s magic mirroring,
intently texting friends and lovers with
the summons to be told
they are indeed the fairest maid of all.
He has not touched a woman in ten years.
He is content to watch
their conjurings,
the way their breasts move with desire,
and live a vivid life inside his eyes.