Lover of mine

The absolutely worst part
of the move
the frontstage situation
the unrivaled largest fear

is missing him.

It is by far worse than I expected it to be
- which mainly reveals my talent for self-desception.
After all, I dreaded the possible move to Liverpool because it would prevent me from possibly meeting him again. And that was before we reconnected. In person.

I need to adapt to
making moments last
longer.
Remembered body heat now lasts more or less
untill Wednesday.
Then fades, and leaves me needy and sad.

I need to be surer
that nothing has happened [in our minds]
since that last embrace
(at the railway station, Monday morning),
that a body in motion will continue in the same direction
unless forces act on it.

Be more secure in the remembered acts,
prioreties,
the tenderness, the care, the passion.

I have a need for plans.
Control, and long-term dates ahead.
I need to quelch those needs. It always ends up fine and sometimes better.

I miss him, that lover of mine.
Alas, I miss him when I leave his bed to find the shower.
'Cause nothing is enough.

And that is, maybe, why the whole thing started.