Hidden.

I could find her in a crowd
deep eyes spilling dark and flashing
lips too red, speaking muffled rhetoric
and her skin, the
soft brown leather, oiled
coarse hair twirling down and brushing your hands
as she looks back
or forward and through

it's a flash and a flicker
she's faint and has no light of her own
deem me silly, scared or soured
in spiteful jealousy
and still, I see her legs
pantyhose snagged just above
her right knee
strut a little too shaky in her
three inch heels
I can smell her
the sound of her blouse
damp with false pride
her crime is manipulation

but you don't really trust me
and she doesn't see
how could you both
blinded by your lives
the spiritual, covert operations
drowning down and out
and through
your new galactic sea

and she doesn't know I exist
but with her fuck-me jeans
and your house on the lake
you never told her of your false affections
of your sad affliction
and still somehow
she wanted to be me