Desire takes over as I close my eyes,
replaying scenes from our time together.
A bargain matinee: your fingers stroke my thighs.
A frigid windy day: a stroll despite the weather.
Exhausted on a bed: slurping honey from your lips.
Returning from the shore: quick kisses on the train.
A stack of photographs: making albums of our trips.
A weekend in New York: a line for tickets in the rain.
Desire begs me to surrender, to believe
these were the only chapters in our story,
that memories of other tougher times deceive
and threaten to obscure a second chance at glory.
Tonight, I'm happy to pretend that you
will rouse me with a gentle morning kiss and hug.
But when this flimflam of a dream is through,
I'll once again conclude: desire's a drug.