Mingling amongst <br />guests <br /> <br />we telegraph <br />our inner feelings <br /> <br />across a crowed <br />room <br /> <br />enchanted with each <br />other <br /> <br />the lift of an eyebrow <br />a toss of curls <br /> <br />speaking to each <br />other exclusively <br /> <br />in telegraphese. <br /> <br />'Sexy! ' - stop. <br /> <br />'Oh...please! ' - stop. <br /> <br />'Oh stop! ' - stop. <br /> <br />'Oh don't stop! ' - stop. <br /> <br />touching each other <br />telepathetically. <br /> <br />At last we come <br />back to one <br /> <br />another <br /> <br />in the centre <br />of the room <br /> <br />our lips <br />sealing with desire <br /> <br />what we have <br />already siad <br /> <br />without saying <br />anything <br /> <br />smuggling little touches <br />across the borders <br /> <br />of decorum <br />& good taste <br /> <br />like spies <br />stealing secrets <br /> <br />& making good <br />our escape.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spies-are-us/
