paris métro
i very often see beautiful men on the metro, sitting or standing, and my mind starts wandering.
from their eyes, hoping they will look straight into mine as if to say: i feel the same way about you. the eyes i will see expressing their emotions with every new day.
to their lips that i imagine absorbing every centimetre of my body in the hope of learning all its secrets, the lips i hear say all the right words straight into my ear, slightly touching it and sending shivers all through my body.
then to their hands, their beautiful hands, the shape of force and protection. hands i imagine kissing as if to show my gratitude, hands i imagine wrapped around me when i feel anxious, especially on sunday evenings.
to their legs, the muscles shaping the material of their pants, the muscles i imagine unclad. the thighs i imagine caressing, bare skin against bare skin. calves covered with the sexiest hair and a slight summer tan. feet that could carry mine when i am tired, feet i would massage when they need rest.
my eyes go back to their face, for the last imaginary embrace before they leave the train, or i.
i keep the memory of them for a second. standing on the platform, my heart is beating fast. i start moving on to another line through the bleak corridors of underground Paris.