Shadowboxing

A poem about fantasizing and autoeroticism.

My shadow crawls
along cracked concrete
circles about me
- checking me out -
as I pass beneath
the streetlamp's
yellow glow.

Quick looks
sidelong longing
at passersby.
Sometimes smiles,
mostly, look away
afraid to meet
inquiring eyes;
afraid to see
behind them.
                                                           
At home,
quiet, soft-lit:
A face
from the street
passes before me
and I smile selfishly,
imagining him -
powerful frame
in scuffed leather (brown) -
gentle hands, eyes and voice
surround.

I close my eyes,
breathless,
to await
my Shadowboxer's touch.