Imaginary Trysts

We speak by phone,

penciling trysts and wondering an

hour’s length from each other.

There’s so much downtime in a week —

minutes spent together,

offset by second lives.

Saw you once late last autumn

(with friends and favored colleagues).

You brought a witty companion,

a contractor, who knew the limits of the workaday world

and licked the thoughts of his after-hours.

On leaving the party, I stood at the top of the stairs

as you tugged the cloth of your coat.

Your friend’s eyes, gleaming from precious scenes,

did not notice our careful shrugs.

My virtual lover,

how I want you —

smudged hands sketching you again