I could go on for days about your hair and eyes and lips,
soft, pink, and cool on mine. I could talk about your hands,
so large against my own and how you towered over me,
standing at almost 7 feet. I can talk of your skin, so pale and
covered in dark hair and the way your beard felt as it rubbed
against my face and then between my thighs.
I could speak of your physical presence but none of that matters
because you still chose to leave.