I hadn’t seen him
much
in the weeks
that passed.
He was
busy.
I was
busy.
But when
he came
through
my front door,
surprising
me by being
so early,
keys still
in my hand
from work,
I barely
caught
sight
of his eyes.
I had him
for fifteen
minutes
and my focus
was solely on
relaying how much
I had missed him.
His touch,
his scruffy
beard
that makes my face red
for an hour
after he leaves me,
the way his hand
slips down to my ass.
Keys drop.
His sunglasses drop.
The way his tongue
feels against mine.
If I bite I feel
I can taste more of him.
I thought it was bullshit—
the saying
Distance makes the
heart
grow fonder.
But its true,
If it’s the
right
person.
The Goddamned romantics
got it right.
It also makes you
hot as hell
wanting the other
needing other
feeling high
for such a
short period of time—
And then wondering
where the time went
and why you’re
still in bed alone.
