fuji

i finally realized
one hundred and fifty-one hours ago
what you have been telling me
for some time now
as i awoke three hundred and
forty-eight miles away
in a bed much warmer and
softer
than my own

it felt much later than it must have been, lifting myself up
stumbling cross the dimly lit beige room
to turn down
that fucking heater
assuming that you too would probably not
appreciate that stifling heat much
longer

and then i stumbled back to where
you lay, so perfectly
suited in that white down comforter that contrasted
handsomly with your body
and the languid humming from the street below
drifted in through the window,along with
a brush of calm wind
and i felt my heart
melt at that very moment and drown the
rest of me

so i fell back
to you
and in my blurred vision, i could still make out a perfect
picture of golden skin
my perfect picture
my perfect memory

and as i pulled myself against you
i hoped that i could forever be
intimately acquainted with that perfect picture, so i
reached over and put my hand
over yours
and you probably dont remember
that when i kissed your shoulder
your grip on
my hand tightened, and
i drfted away as i
faded into you

i know you tell me to enjoy these
moments
we have together, but in that warm bed that i
considered to be ours
for thirty-one hours
it was difficult for me to do such a thing
knowing that when i wake, you will
once again only be
that memory
that i am so thoroughly fond of