She used to hate it.

Body heat, sticking flesh
and clammy hands all in a single bed,
one night-a-week, if they were lucky.

Usually sleepless evenings gave way
to smaller hours, but greater pleasures,
two bodies moving with each other,
furtive and electric.

How effective are light, birdsong,
and city air for rinsing the mind
of lust. Yet on the train, in spite
of the company and open space,

she longs for that single bed, and
the scent of his skin crossing hers.