The Glance

She said she'd sit in back with him, go ahead, so he did not feel uncomfortable, on the ride.

A look, back, in the mirror, a glance, you barely see.

But the vision, there just the same.

The contrast, black nylon with the white skin of her legs.

Her feminine beauty marred only by the hand.

The masculine had, his hand, touching her thigh.

He is looking out the side window, does not see that you see.

But she saw your eyes.

She knows what you saw.

An awareness only a married couple could have, shared thoughts without speaking.

A gasp, a sound you know so well, a gasp, a sound she makes when touched just so.

Glance again. His eyes, still far, hers, now closed.

A gasp again, her response to his touch, his fingers, finding her, feeling her.