I, of course, instantly notice
The bare skin of your back exposed
Between the top of your blue jeans
And your blouse as you, oblivious
To my wandering gaze, sit reading.
I wish, like a boy on his first date
Longing for a kiss, to lightly run
My finger tips across your patch
Of skin as a prelude of caresses
Still to come. Yet, as is too often
The excuse, there is too much to
Do for the day: another paper to
Grade, a dinner to plan; so I move
On toward yet another distraction.

(April 2011)