Of Trains and Beautiful Men

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The man on the train
accidentally touches
my hand and in that instant
a dogwood leaf lands
on the rain kissed glass.
It flinches against the
window pane.

The man is distinguished,
in his elegant suit and
periwinkle shirt.
I can tell he is
used to being admired
by women.
The leaf makes its way
up the glass.
I can feel the warmth
of his thigh
as it rubs up against
mine with every thrust
of the train.
I would be so proud
if he were mine.

Our eyes connect. Hold.
His pulling me forward
His face is tender.
I imagine he believes in
Shakespeare, distant ships,
stray winds, Miles Davis,
the sweet sound
of needle to
groove.

I bite my lip to keep
from moving closer.
I want the warmth
of his name
in my mouth.
There’s an erotic energy
between us.
He reduces me to ashes,
I never want to brush
off.

What if we started
a conversation?
What if he gave himself
over to me?
What if he touched me
there and there?

The trees sway and
blur in the window.
The clouds look like satin
sheets we could lie in.
His beauty makes
my eyes ache.
His full lips, a glazy
pastry’s crust.

He jolts against me,
his arm brushes my breast,
I become a shivering thing
as the train comes to
a stop.

He wears me out
and I don’t even
know his name.

-Tosha Michelle

My second attempt at “Use Somebody”- Kings of Leon Cover.

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92 thoughts on “Of Trains and Beautiful Men

  1. Pingback: Of Trains and BeautifulΒ Men | Blueyedg

  2. I recall a similar event in my life, same types of train tensions. I didn’t have the courage to talk to her, so I passed her a letter and we ended up dating for a while. Sadly, my imagination of the girl on the train was better than the dates. 😦

    Like

    1. Ha-ha.Random thought for the Random Crow- I had this friend in college who used to say, he was like a train he always pulled out in time. I imagine he has a passel of kids by now. πŸ˜‰ For some reason your comment reminded me of his words. πŸ˜‰

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Lovely, reminds me of a few occasions on trains, so romantic! One time I remember sitting near someone nice, we got into a conversation so quickly, then when we got off I wished I’d asked for her number! Why didn’t I? She was so lovely! πŸ™‚

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    1. How annoying, I had been subscribed here including emails, but never (by my records) received a single notification, I just unsubscribed, and re-subscribed, because I couldn’t find you on my list! I need to look at my settings I think, because I just followed myself – just to see if I have an avatar, and like your page, I don’t!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes, I think its common, quite a few times I have missed out, so maybe its them and not us. I don’t know why I don’t have an avatar, that might help to make it us more recognisable (in the followed sites area I mean) Anyhow, I scrolled through for a long while looking for you, in order to check my settings – but I didn’t see any of your posts there either, I do now, so maybe I refreshed the server. Yes, the WP side of things can be cranky!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I still can’t fix the small avatar problem, its not a massive problem, but it irks me a little, because others on the list have them, about 80% of them seem to work, I should ask someone, but its all confusing for this country lad! I just spent and hr or so on it, so thats enough for now, off to read my 50 emails, how did it get like this?? Sorry I ramble, I’m quite mad you know πŸ˜‰

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  4. My Heart Needs A Home

    Doesn’t yours? Roaming Merrie Woods and Toxaway Falls
    where kayaks glide, cattails distend into cottony seed puffs,
    we discover the essence of each other. Photos snapped as wind
    comes to sailing level entertain beneath Jackson’s half dome.
    Gems, but mostly agates, sit underground, along river beds,
    few found. Lips feel the feathery touch of willow, tangled
    hair straightens at fingers command, knees bent, prone to the
    correct angle to capture sunbathing elder who reads as he sits
    in an Adirondack chair on the eastern continental divide, three
    thousand four hundred eighty six feet, make it eighty five,
    above sea level. Black bear images at first fool newcomers,
    into serenity, but the live scroungers will be around in person.
    This is where it all begins. Doe emerges below newly stained
    deck, wobbles, shakes off mom’s sticky womb extras. Walking
    the lake trail, finding the right overlook, slipping on mossy rocks,
    launching tomorrow today. Misunderstandings disappear when
    genuine care initiates a navigational victory on the Blue Ridge
    looking south to the Smokeys, in the servants’ staircase, among
    well-planted gardens, over festive lunch, a metaphor of chicken,
    enjoyed with the self esteem of roast beef on gluten-free bread.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. and speaking of being touched here or there:

    Han Xue’s Doug poem

    Does everything look like it is?
    Of course not, like the girl named Eva.
    Unless you are blind to see her heart.
    Go and hold her forever in your hug.

    This is a β€œhead in the sand” poem. A Chinese form using a person’s name vertically in order to deliver a β€œhidden” message. Made by Han Xue Han

    And in Return by Doug:

    Here she blossoms fueled by soft desire.
    Aching heart yearns for a simple, happy mate.
    No one stops today, but she lit a fire.
    X-Ray shows her fertile ground can’t wait.
    Unless you are a fool, you will touch her now.
    Enjoy it when you discover where and how.

    Liked by 1 person

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