Busking

Your voice
carry me to remoteness.
They say your eyes do not see
but I can't help but feel you around me:
inconspicuous plunging
into the deepest ravine/wound of my heart.
People walk on by oblivious:
rush;
mind gush;
splattered on the graffiti walls.
Stiletto heels clap with the dirty tessellated pavement.
Straight as an arrow —
eyes burning bright,
I walk through the crowd
to meet the appointed time.
Inside, I am frozen with fear.
Tomorrow will be a hot day
but inside my cold room I will stay,
nursing this wound
with nothing but fantasies of her skin's soft caresses.