Mingling amongst
guests
we telegraph
our inner feelings
across a crowed
room
enchanted with each
other
the lift of an eyebrow
a toss of curls
speaking to each
other exclusively
in telegraphese.
'Sexy! ' - stop.
'Oh...please! ' - stop.
'Oh stop! ' - stop.
'Oh don't stop! ' - stop.
touching each other
telepathetically.
At last we come
back to one
another
in the centre
of the room
our lips
sealing with desire
what we have
already siad
without saying
anything
smuggling little touches
across the borders
of decorum
& good taste
like spies
stealing secrets
& making good
our escape.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spies-are-us/
