Fantasy lights up

I´ve been walking around high on
my imaginations own capacity to churn out
stimuli.
Each piece of beauty becomes an object
a heart pulley or the apple of my eye.
As women are so different in their mood
and appearance.
Each one I see has distracted me
pleasantly,
Each one a pleasurable interference.
As they walk by, perhaps a glance or a toss of the hair,
A tap of the foot on a leg quite tanned or fair.
Each fantasy lights up like blinking red lights
in a civil emergency centre.
Walking past before I can ask,
playing in my head even when I never
even met her.
I´m praying for a disaster.