And you brush past me,
A well-dressed siren with no need for song.
I eagerly follow.
And you instantly look away,
The uncomfortable silence of strangers reverberates off metal elevator doors.
Fourth floor, 5th floor, then 6th, you don’t flinch,
As if the knowledge of my presence was somehow too much to bear.
11,12, 13, perspiration from my mottled neck, risible and warm,
Byproducts of a healthy libido now gone haywire.
26, 27, 28, the pain in my ringing ears, one-upped by my now white-hot heart.
35,36,37, a once-casual curiosity now teeters on obsession,
As you stand poised for the inevitable ping.
The door opens, your unexpected sultry smile wafts lustily out into the hallway.
Leaving me with only a vapor trail of passion, a tease – a spurious notion of rising mercury.
Doors close…31, 30, 29, time to get back to work.
©2003 by John L. Fischer