Last thing at night I think of him

His breath on my neck as he leans to kiss it,

The little circles his fingers draw on my bare skin,

The careful attention he pays to every inch of me,

The butterfly kisses across my breasts,

His tender kiss, his sweet caress.

I feel his touch and his whispers in my ear,

But I don’t see his face or know his name,

Because, despite it all, there’s no one here