I can’t stop thinking about you. The sight of you, the smell of you, the taste of you.
I want to hold you. I want to feel you near me. I miss you, so much.
No one makes me feel the way you do. Filled up, complete. Comforted. Replete.
‘You make me feel like a natural woman.’
I’ve lost count of how many times, each better than the last. Yet so soon I find myself yearning for the moment when we meet again.
I’ve fought my feelings; God knows how hard. Only I can’t keep away from you.
The world without you is a cold and empty place, the colder and emptier for having had you in it, however briefly. Passers-by jostle me, I am like a sleepwalker, someone in a daze.
‘Can’t you watch where you are going?’
No, I can’t. All roads lead to you, you are my Rome, my Holy Grail. I am lost. All I can see is you.
I’ve told you how much I love you, but I get no response, just that lopsided smile which makes my stomach turn somersaults every time I see you.
It’s the perfect way you are put together, hard to describe, it’s as if a committee sat and came up with you, like that Burt Bacharach, Hal David love song, ‘the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true.’
Everything where it should be, perfectly presented, as we meet at the point of our mutual need.
‘Number 67, your order is ready, one Big Mac.’