I look at the clock.
Finding that I'm thinking of you again.
Visage fading into distant clouds.
Just your image.
Keeps creeping back.
Just like the smell of freshly baked bread.
Love it.
Makes me feel I'm alive.
I love fresh baked bread.
And I love you too.
And the moon is dressed with vapour trails from passing jets.
The vapour trails remind me of our foreign business trips.
Perfect pleasure.
The places we've been.
All that we've seen.
I smell your feel in my bed sheets.
As I felt your fingers in my bed hair.
Guess what?
You're just a fantasy.
You were never ever there.
(c)LIVVI