Near Miss

A poem about an illicit affair existing only in the minds of those involved.

See the flush, underneath her skin?
Like the virgin bride, she blushed
Imagining his colours
Far brighter than he shows to others
As she walks, his eyes follow
The light, trailing her wake
Tracing each day
The arcs of her body with invisible touch.

See her wither, as he goes?
A chewed pencil, nervously
Lolling in hand
Until he returns, eyes trained on her
Painful awareness, their breathing quickens.
Tinged with heat,
Hoping for just one small moment
Without these others always present.

See her look through lowered lids?
Daring herself to approach,
Practising saved sentences
Made secretly while washing dishes.
Three, maybe four words
To convey the intensity of thought, yet
Meaning gets sunk
In skin that shines beyond semantics.

See the fire that rages inside her?
Under those clothes lies the girl she lost.
He reaches beneath
Then recoils, shameful as she weeps.
So to veiled wives and husbands they run
Dreaming of what may be
But never will,
Until the embers turn to ashes.