Yesterday's moments disappeared like snow flakes mistakenly falling in summer's heat.  I knew I should have whispered one last thing.  I should have savored more of you; then I would still taste your breath in my memory.  Now I lust after moments . . . moments passed.  I implore sleep to quickly come and diminish my mental marathon of infatuating adoration and sorrowful missing.  I close my eyes and wait for slumber to rescue me, but just as my feelings of missed opportunity consume me, my mind continues replaying the secrets of your imperfect, perfection.  Once again you're keeping me up at night.  But not from your intellect, your hands, your caffeine like presence.  No, instead from regret that I couldn't make those moments last forever.  Now someone else gets to swim in your cognitive oceans and seek refuge in your arms.