You are an affectionate hand
touching my girlish waist.
An arm lying, carefree,
over my plush velvet thigh.
A pair of pink lips
resting on the side of my neck.
I see your blue eyes.
The way you hold those girls.
You hold them tight,
your hand against their soft hair.
They are glad to be held;
they don't like to talk.
I see past the sculpted abs and arms,
into the sapphire eyes that reveal
the beatific disturbance lying there,
waiting to be discovered
by a girl who is blind.
I waited in line for three hours
and when I shook your hand, I wanted more.
You reached out to embrace me
in your radiating yellow shirt,
But I realized it too late;
I was already walking away.
So next time, rest one pale hand
on top of my knee, and drape the other
across my shoulder.
of your experiences I never knew.
We can stare into the camera,
and when it's all over, all I'll have left
is an autographed photo.