That Night

He hopes that no one

hears his groan

over the hiss of the opening doors,

please mind the gap,

as he watches her pale breasts

under her T-shirt;

small protrusions of nipples

dancing with the rhythm of the train.

His hands cup his knees

stroking them gently.

She hopes that no one

hears her moan

over the noise of the train

forcing its way through the tunnel

as she watches his hands

caressing his knees

with the rhythm of the train.

That night in bed

she turns on her vibrator

and thinks of those hands

on her breasts.

That night in bed

he holds his penis

and thinks of those breasts,

moves his hand as fast 

as his wife’s hand 

whipped meringues

for this evening’s desert.