Her breath brushes your skin
when your eyes are closed,
the hem of her gown
touches your clothes
and her perfume 
spices the room.

She puts her hands 
on your shoulders,
dances you round,
the touch is planned -
a bold 
gesture from her world.

She plants a brief
on your palm, turns
and leaves the room -
soft grief
of loss 
O man spurned -
phantom woman.
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