Myriad

It was the most perfect kiss I've ever experienced.

Her skin was so soft and white and beautiful.

Her lips were succulent.

She was beautiful.

In that moment she was the most beautiful, most amazing, most spectacular, most perfect woman. Ever.

Every time I try to remember it brings me such joy.

Such peace.

God, I love her.

The memory of her.

That Kiss.

The way he lips gently caressed my lips.

How her tongue massaged mine.

Such joy.

Such peace.

Such happiness.

Such sorrow to think that it won't ever happen again.

The touch of he pale soft skin under my fingertips sets my nerve endings aflame.

To caress her cheek once more would be enough to cure me of this terrible ache.

The Passion. The Fire.

Why do I love so much the memory and despise so much the remembrance of it?

Parting is not sweet but sorrow. Someone's hope, if I could but borrow.
For hope has all but left me dead. And devil's feast on what angel's dread.