by
Janah Honey
I’ve been watching you... Now don’t get all freaked out just yet...

Every morning @ about 7:30... You, you sit across the car reading your paper. Eyes for no one but eyes on everyone, hair pulled back as tightly as your locks will allow. What color is your hair? Some look like a dusty red and others look so blond they’re almost white, like rays of sunshine that highlight you, portending your fiery spirit maybe? Your skin, creamy like the purest butterscotch, smooth like the feel of that same candy sliding down my throat. I wonder what you taste like. Did you know your lips move when you read? Those full cherry red lips softly forming the news, as though nothing exists until it touches those lips. Like a bleeding heart across the smooth expanse of your face Softened only by the rose dusting in the freckles that are sprinkled across your cheeks, your nose...

Like so many miniature kisses given by a fairy godmother. You look like some kind of fairytale nymph lost in this steel monster surrounded by all these dark, slovenly trolls...

There must be something good in there today, or maybe you’re reading the funnies. Your smile is stunning. I forget to breathe for five whole heartbeats and if I didn’t need air I’d keep holding as if I could capture the moment in that one breath. The next I inhale seems so much sweeter... I imagine it is the very gust released when you laughed, that dark sultry chuckle. Your voice is much deeper than I imagined; like a night in the woods beneath the stars, like the perfect wishing well, like a gaze into the eyes of your lover.

I feel my hands tingle and your image seems to slide a little. I’ve forgotten to breathe again and my hands are clenched so hard I can’t feel my fingers. Where do you work? Thank God for their dress code!!! Your legs are crossed, butterscotch thighs covered by those delicate cobwebs. I wonder how rough the material would feel under my tongue, between my teeth as I tore my way through to you. The tip of my tongue itches. The arch of your foot enthralls me. Forced to overextend it’s self to hold on to that elusive high-heeled number you’re wearing. How tall are you, 5’6”, 5’7”? Mmmmmm your ass would fit against my crotch perfectly. Like spoons in a drawer, my hips ache to cradle you, as if my bones are crying out in protest of your absence.

When you stand to leave I see the graceful way your clothes caress your neck, roll off your shoulders, and down your back. Your blouse flowing into the small of your back to dive into the back of your “no-nonsense, all business” skirt... Do they make skirts with that swell? Or must the material yield and submit to your ample form? Are you nervous? Your perfectly manicured fingers flutter as you gather your things to go, pale yellow butterflies pollinating a world of leather. I wonder how they’d feel flittering across my love-heated skin. Would they feel like brief brushes from a feather? Would they carry with them a soft breeze?

You’re traveling late; barely any of us left to ride these restless railways tonight, but you’re standing. The sundress your wearing is twice as effective at night, with the cool air of the rushing train running the length of the car, pressing the light cotton material against your body. Your reeking havoc on my respiratory system... A drop of sweat winds its way down the underside of your chin and meanders its lazy way down your neck. It picks up speed as it comes to the hollow of your throat as though in a hurry to get to the mesmerizing bounty that waits beneath the first three buttons of your dress. I wonder if you can feel me watching. I’ve memorized every inch of your physique so I notice the slight swelling in your bra, the sharpness of your breath, the way the cotton emphasizes your tightly pressed thighs.

Even if your mind doesn’t acknowledge me your body does. My gaze is the familiar touch of a lover and it responds as such. Thank God for the sundress!!! It reveals and surrounds, imprints and exposes... heavenly saran wrap. My lips burn to answer the signals your nipples are sending... 10 hut, Attention!! They salute me with all the dignity they can muster while they beg for my attention.

If looks could kill then the conductor’s family would mourn his loss and our ride would continue indefinitely. As it is, I can see the end of our time together approaching. As you gather your things, your skirt rides up and grants me the briefest glimpse of heaven. You stooped to correct this unplanned peep show and our eyes meet... you see me, open and vulnerable, full of wanting and desire. And I see in your eyes... Recognition- the feel of my desire is familiar to you... like, like your own skin. Realization- that nameless longing that creeps over you as you ride to work EVERY morning, was mine as it magnified your own. When your skin begged for an embrace it was in my direction it prayed. Understanding- that the companion you sought was on the other side of the paper ever morning. In the next instant the doors close and the shock is complete. I forget to breathe...

I reclaim my seat in the morning with a new sense of anticipation. I can’t even read my paper as I sit and wait. But you’re not there!!! Not that day, or the next, or the next. Could I have been wrong? Was that night merely my mind breaking under the strain of frustration, a product of my own fevered imagination? My disappointment, my sorrow, could not be more complete. I finally shake out my paper; fold it in half, and then half again. There’s nothing good going on in sports: The Mets are making fools of themselves yet again. Tsk tsk: AOL is down seven points again. I wonder if I should sell? The lights seem so much dimmer in here today. I look up and your seat is empty. The hole in my heart couldn’t be any bigger. I open the fold turn it over and... There.

Those lips like a cherry red broken heart, freckles like careless kisses sprinkled across your cheeks. Those eyes so full off...

“WOMAN FOUND MUGGED AND MURDERED this morning near the train station on 83rd and Lexington!!!”

I forget to breathe...

I’ve been watching you... Now don’t get all freaked out just yet. My doctor says if I can just stop seeing you... I can go home... every morning around 7:30. I forget to breathe...


The End

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