Those Girls

by Elizabeth Bocock

 

Those girls,

collar bones rouged

and glittered to

high hell. Shining

like lighthouses

through the gaps

in my blinds. Beckoning

me to join them

in their low-

cut dresses and

skin-tight pants.

Beautiful and

carefree in a

way I could never

dream. I wave back

when they see me

from my half-closed

window, shading

the longing in

my gaze. Imagine

dancing among them.

Heaving bosoms

swaying in rhythm, club

lights low and suggestive,

skin slick as

sweat mixes with

perfume. The ease for

wandering fingers

to find each other

in the dark. Uninhibited

as the music drowns

all other sensation.

Her hands running

through my hair as

my mouth finds hers.

The bulbs brighten

as I pull away,

her lips lost in

the luminescence

of the room around

me. As those

girls go on

their merry way.