I see you everywhere.
I see you in the city crowd, around each bustling corner, in the sea of men dressed in their finery, moving swiftly, sauntering languidly, meeting in cafes, waiting at lights, recognising your eyes, your mouth, your gait, your frame, the heady mix of your cologne and your freshly showered skin.
I see you in flashes and grabs in these strangers before me, I hear your voice somehow through theirs, your voice deep and accented, your voice hoarse with desire, your voice erotically soft, your voice drifting through the wintry breeze, taunting me, calling me, summoning my body, impelling me to follow it, to follow you through the suited throng to a quiet little place, a quiet modest room, a room with a bed and a window and an unassuming view, a room to christen with the libations of our frenzied coupling, a room to fill with the sounds of our sensual union, a room for just us two.
I see you. I see you everywhere in the crowd, on the street, in this bright, shiny city of mine.