His muscles are tightened
and my intestines twist in my stomach juice.
His eyes are glued to the glowing screen,
but mine trace the curves of his back, shoulders, and neck.
I close my eyes and feel his touch,
his soft caress and tender ******.
My hands and fingers through his hair,
his chocolate skin and everywhere.

I open my eyes to the TV's glare.
Light shines back across him,
an arms length away from my burning.
I bite my tongue and hold my breath,
only breathing again at the fantasy
of someone loving me.
Saving me.

He's right there and doesn't know
how he makes me cry inside,
every time he moves an inch, laughs out loud, or-
god forbid he turns around.
He does just this, an looks at me,
smiles that smile and pats my knee.
As if he feels for me.
Won't you feel me please?

At home I lie in the dark,
trying to smell part of him on my clothes.
Nothing.
I stare at the ceiling,
my mind too full to let me close my eyes.
I'm only able to smile,
though I know I will later cry.
His image ingrained for another sleepless night.