I still feel her lips against my lips, and I guess I always
will, a kinetic memory that clings to me. I wake up with it, live with it all
day, and crawl into bed with it at night, even though I know it is all that it
will ever be, a precious memory, and maybe it is enough.
To feel it even in memory is to live it again, tender to
touch, even with my fingertips, pressing in, watching the flesh contract,
anticipating a closer, more personal contact.
Sometimes, this memory wakes me from sleep, inspiring other physical
reactions that will not dissipate without vigorous effort, the feel of those
lips, the memory of a kiss, stirring me now and always.
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