Find Me, Have Me

The irony is in how you feel me.

In the heat of Summer sun, I am that distortion in the road, 

     a mirage - a blur in the Earth's matter. 

The simple curiosity gleaming in your black-cat's eye

is the motion and static of my silhouette.

In the shower, alongside the moist suppleness of your skin,

I am the steam clinging to the glass encasing you -

     press your fingertips into my shadow.

When the lights turn down and your eyelids are heavy,

I am that sudden chill down your spin, 

     the tingle on the back of your neck,

     the air brushing hair across your vanilla forehead, 

     the coolness in your sheets,

     the sensation vibrating below you - 

          surging deep in your abdomen,

          rising.  

The irony is in how you feel me - 

     - invisible me - 

satisfied with the thought that you are completely alone.