Afterglow

I lay still, breathing heavily, my heart beating strong. My arms envelope you and I feel the full length of your body against me. I'm sure I feel your warmth, but it’s my imagination, picking up vibrations in the air. You were never really there.

I dress and drive to the party. As I enter, men shake my hand and women kiss my cheek. I smell your musky fragrance on my skin and wonder if they smell it, too. But it’s my imagination. You were never there.

I feel myself tingling where you touched me. I feel the outline of your hand. My lips remember touching yours and my cheek recalls the tickle of your hair. I’m afraid that I shall become aroused. But it’s my imagination, because you never touched me.

I smile and make pleasant conversation and shake my head when agreement is called for. We talk about the independent voter turnout and prospects for the next election cycle. The new Congressman steps in front of the crowd to speak. We clap as he thanks us. I turn to smile at you, but you were never there.

I see my friend Mark. He has someone new, where he had no one before. She is very special, he says. They smile. They stand close together. They can’t bear not to touch. They are in love.

And you are gone, because you were never there.