The Imaginary Reveler (Original Poem)

From across this crowded room
I feel your gaze;
it bores through me
with a ferocity!

Dare I look up?

Will I see you staring
straight at me,
eyes smoldering
with desire?

Or will I glance
and find nothing?
No handsome stranger
will there be
seeking my eye
to make that
human connection.

The bubbles in my drink
fizz and pop
as I stir,
first clockwise,
then counter,
hoping for some portent to
a sign that we are,
or are not,
meant to meet this night.

As I sip, I feel the
cold, tingling goodness
and the slight burn
of the alcohol
as my beverage
glides down my throat,
landing in my belly
amidst butterflies and knots.

I should look up.
But what will I find
if I do?

A quarter turn to the left,
I turn
and slowly raise my eyes,
through my lashes.

Perhaps I shall find someone
not you,
but someone close
enough in proximity
that I can walk in
your direction,
without any true risk
of rejection.

Your eyes are lasers
piercing the soft flesh
just above my collar bone,
and yet I avoid looking
in your
direct direction,
the outline of your
trim and tanned physique
decorates my
peripheral vision.

Scanning the area,
just to your left,
I search madly
for someone,
I know
or can pretend to know,
just so I can be near to you,
just so I can walk towards you
and gauge your reaction.

The figure of you at
the edge of my vision
nearly imperceptibly
from this angle.

I dare a glance.

I see your eyes
locked in my direction
as my gaze attempts to meld with yours
to make that final connection,
the one necessary before we speak.

I watch as your perfect face
becomes more so
as your lips widen into
a delighted grin,
one I match,
my own lips stretched thin
to show my enthusiasm
and joy.

My feet,
of their own accord,
begin the slow walk towards you,
one foot preceding the other,
like a tracker trying to hide his trail
by stepping in another’s tracks,
yet my purpose
is only to put
a sway into my hips.

My hips jostle from side
to side,
a sultry swagger of my own
as I walk confidently towards you,
my target.

I weave between the partygoers,
careful not to spill a drink,
mine or theirs,
though they swing theirs about
in careless arcs and swirls
as they talk
and gesture madly
in a drink induced mania.

I step into the space where once you were
and acknowledge to myself
that you haven’t gone,
you were merely
nothing more
than a figment of my imagination.

About Elizabeth

First and foremost I am a teacher. What I teach is a blend of grammatical art, literary love, and a smidge of spiritual awareness. My blog tries to combine the best of all three over a cup of tea.

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