Otaku

Sakura, her name; Like the cherry blooms.

Beautiful, fragile, fragrant, fleeting.

Stolen in a moment of time.

Watching, waiting, wanting, needing.

She walks through the door,

It's her home. All is well.

Down the street, to the station.

Right on time, like every morning.

Her hand, smooth, pale, delicate.

It presses down a crease in her skirt.

The tips of her fingers, touching the hem.

Wait, pause, narrowed eyes, survey.

Is it shorter, tighter, provocative?

Who does she wear it for?

No, wait. It's last years skirt.

Remember, her mothers sick.

Money is tight, like her top.

It's alright; she's just grown.

She's still a good girl, my good girl.

Perhaps a donation, a gift, unknown.

Can't have her reputation stained.

She's such a pretty thing.

Her hand lifts, she smiles, I tense.

No worries, it's just her friend, a girl I approve.

Better she has company and not alone.

Strange men take the train.

They step on; I watch, I wait.

Then feet follow,

Quiet, patient, stealthy.

I stand behind them.

Protected, she's safe now.

No one will harm what's mine.

Eagerness, thrilling, pulsing, exciting,

A shiver runs down my spine.

I can't wait, until the day,

She will know she's mine.