in my head, of course. i haven't been able to put pen to paper yet. nor will i, probably, until i leave.

it led me toward thinking.

thinking about you. thinking about us. thinking about how it all felt, sleeping with you.

the way it felt, naked, against you, naked, with you saying, barely loud enough to be heard over the air conditioning, how you liked feeling us this close together.

this close.

i have tried, these last two days, to either go forward... or regress back, depending on who you ask, how i tell the story... and last night, today, i realized i can't do that.

she is not you.

nor will her body be as long or wide as yours, as deep, nor will it feel the same pressed against me, pushing up into me, rolling me over, like your body.

if you give me another shot, i say in my head, if you give me another chance, one last time to make love to you, i swear it will last all night.

i will kiss you from fingertip to elbow to shoulder to shoulder to elbow to fingertip.

i will kiss your neck.

i will kiss your long torso.

i will touch your back and your legs. i will feel your knees with my palms and trace your toes with the pads of my fingers.

it will take me a week to undress you. to slowly reveal everything i've seen before but have never stopped being amazed at you, you of all people, sharing it with me.

we can spend the summer together, it will take me that long, the summer and then into the fall.

winter will come and go and i will still be showing you. i will still be thanking you, still be telling you, telling you with my lips and my fingers, with my whole body, how much i love you.

outside, the snow will be falling. it will cover the grass and create patterns on my bedroom window.

outside, it will be silent. quiet and calm.

and inside, i will be showing you.

writing letters to you.

but without pen or paper.