The role of a lifetime, perpetual fantasy

It's been a month since your lips last touched mine,

And I still can't let go of the feeling of you:

The feeling of your hands on my back,

Of your body pushing against mine,

Of your leg as I wrapped mine around,

Of your hands all over my back,

Of that moment when you almost bit my lip,

And the sound of your breathing as you engulfed me in your arms,

Or your luscious hair in my hungry hands,

Or your back as I caressed you and pulled you closer into my embrace,

And yes, oh yes, the lights,

The lights surrounding us and giving us entirely to the audience recreation,

And our cast members taking their place in the scene, ready for us to part,

Snapping appart,

With my legs like jelly and your lips so full of mine...

No, I still can't shake you out,

Not your eyes on me on those scenes, either,

Nor your increased heartbeat when I put my hand on your chest,

Nor the way your lips parted when I invited you to come with me (or at least Milady did),

Nor your laugh, nor your smile, nor your way of making me feel tall...

But that's all there even now,

Though we don't see each other nearly as often as it was once - your eyes, your laugh, your smile - still surround my existence and my life,

Much like your cheek pressed against my cheek when we hug hello/goodbye,

And your arms tightening around my body like you're genuinely glad too see me or wish me a fair goodbye,

And your eyes checking me out

(Do you really check me out? Do you actually look down at my breasts or watch me as I walk?) (Or is it what I want to believe and see as true because of how much I want you?)

In any case, all those touches of you are there,

As little as I see you now, they're always there,

And I don't want to let go of my sensation of you,

But I want to keep you, instead,

As unhealthy and unwise as it is,

I want to keep you lingering on me!