I see her, her moves, her nuances. I think she sees me seeing her. I hide my intrigue and desire within myself dressing it up with indifference and cold displacement. She is not fooled and her hungry smile almost melts my frigidity. A subtle toss of the head and arching of the back, her wiles turned upon me for a moment and then she walks away.
Again, she amongst her peers, looking across the void and catching my intrusive eyes. She knows I am exploring her every line and curve, pondering her scent and taste, the texture of her flesh pressed against mine. I could torment her with whispers of intent: telling her how I would relish the taste of her secret garden dripping from insistent kisses and the quivering anticipation within me, waiting to be released upon her beckoning. My hands giving praise to the temple of her soul, both supplication demanding. Kisses traveling her sacred pathways, cupping and caressing and begging for her carnal embrace. Her hot flesh, waiting before me, welcoming me and devouring me selfishly. Again. And again.
She, knowing my purpose solely for her being, pushes me away. Denial in her mind and heart. I am no more a passing thought that she may call on again when there are no others.