The strong post-war tone of his accent.
Adventurous and experienced.

I wanted to lie down next to him for hours
and feel all the crests of his veined arms.

To memorize all the tones of his perfume.

The tickling feeling of his stubble on my neck.

His fingers playing with my curls.

The heat in his eyes.

The smirk and satisfaction on
his face when our bodies collide.

The deep growl of his voice
resonating in the dim, dark room.

My body surrendering to his power,
his presence, and his commands.

My vision blurred because by lust.

My puffy lips, tired and still
unsatisfied by his kisses.

My center aching for more.

A whole day with him,
and it was not enough.

Not enough time,
not enough kisses,
not enough…

Because then he was gone.

He was gone,
and I am still here.

Here without his kiss,
without his lust,
without his promise of return,
without a beacon of hope,
keeping my heart alive until we meet again.

Here without his kiss,
without his lust,
with his memory haunting my heart,
a ghost of our passion,
lingering in the silence of this room

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