your long analytical fingers
haunt me
in my most secret moments-
dreams, mostly,
but other places too.

I can see them ghost across my skin -
not burning like you'd think, but freezing -
from the hollow of my neck
down
the underside of my breasts
brushing
against my sides and
across
my hips
beyond words
is where they (you)
go next.

your imaginary touch
sends shivers
up
my spine,
makes my knees
go weak
and my skin
hum
with electricity.

but you
who know the dead better than you
understand the living
would never guess
my affections
which will never come to fruition until
I am a blue, lifeless
cadaver
lying on your autopsy table.

but a girl can dream,
can't she?