Simply, You.

I can still taste you
on my lips,
that beautiful, fresh
innocent taste,
like strawberries
freshly picked
out of a starry,
budded meadow,
with some naughty
whipped cream on the side.

Your face is still
on my mind,
like a photograph
of a supermodel,
you have absolutely
the most perfect features
ever to be wasted
on such a perfect man.

Your smell is everywhere
around me,
I swear, your smell
has gotten into my skin,
like those little
perfume sample cards
they give out
at department stores,
where the scent
is imbedded into the pores
of the paper.

My skin is red,
like handprinted,
blushing bruises
on all the places
where you dug your fingernails
into my back,
as you whispered heatedly
into the silence,
"God, you're beautiful."

And that last
beautiful, perfect smile
you flashed at me,
is still flickering
on the ceiling above me,
exactly like the memories
flashing before my eyes,
of all of the beautiful wonders
and amazing little things
that make up
You.