A storm in a milk glass

Great night tonight. Good food, got some work out of the way. And the the Greatness was that my sweetheart came over with a make-out-o-gramme with my name on it. Of course she couldn't stay, the poor thing gets up something like 5:45 or other ridiculous hour, but it was reeaally nice to see her, a whole week and then some having passed since the last time. Oh, man. She so amazonic. I got all that palpitation and arrythmia. Muscles tense for no reason. Breathing irregular. Some sort of fragmentary speech with flatmate after she left. Sitting down only to get back up, pacing the apartment with a smile. The memory of her, that wonderful fantasy, is nowhere near as intense as her. A drop of fragility in the cup-o-love, and all the sweeter the taste. If it's from a crystal glas, whine tastes so much better. What? No, that's not it. I mean, once you truly appreciate the fleeting quality of something so great as this, all the more powerful the moment will hold you in a breathless .. weightless .. fall.

Well, good night, as I'm hoping some of her smell rubbed off on my pillowcase.

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