Transience is key, you know.
The gentle ebb and flow of your pulse
     and the sudden thrumming of your triste coeur,
the flash of his hair in the sun.
The blush on the back of your neck
     and the woeful pang of lust,
buried back down by his muffled laughs.
Empty space,
     flinching warm fingers,
bitten holes in smooth cherry lips -
Remembering you're just lonely,
     not thinking about him for a second once you're out the door,
except when you catch his eyes in the rain.
     Fleeting moments often last the longest,
that's when you know you're sick.