this song always makes me think of you, now.

maybe it will forever:
today as she plays i can still remember her voice on the television as we kissed and kissed and kissed some more.

i spent two hours on Napster trying to find the songs that played as you slept next to me, snoring softly in post-coital contentment.
your skin. god, your skin. my fingertips still hold memory of it. my lips still recall your earlobe. i could not stop touching you for the hours we were together…
until finally my alarm went off, and i had to go back to the hostel, but i could not bring myself to leave your bed. so i kissed between your shoulder blades, kissed the small of your back, the soft soft curve which started into the rise of your buttocks…

i got back to the hostel 45 minutes late.
i wish it were later.

if wishes were bricks, i could build a bridge to you. but wishes are wishes and i have supped full of them.

i cannot sup full of you.
all i have to feast upon is memory; the chatter of the red light on the streets below, the breeze which rattled the vertical blinds, the sound of your breathing, the sharp taste of the smoke in my throat, the accent of your voice when you muttered “shit” after we’d made love and you held me to you…

and the song that i hear every day, because it’s pop.