Jack Hunter

Hours into days, days into weeks and still I am thinking of
you.
I will childishly depend on these days, weeks and months to blanket the
sting I feel when I think of you.
I've got it bad and that aint good.

The emotional pain is unbearable, but its nothing compared to the sheer
physicality of it.

The heart you once made jump and bounce, beat so fast I sometimes
thought it would rip out of my body and race away, the heart that you
melted and warmed now feels battered and bruised, beaten to within an
inch of its life and left out in the cold, frozen.

This fever that quickens my pulse will pass soon.
This longing I have to kiss you, to breathe you, to smell the dizzying
scent of your skin will fade away.
Eventually another hurricane will roar up and introduce himself and
spin me around and around.

And hopefully, when he and I are sitting in a restaurant and I am
staring at my glass of champagne for what seems an eternity, and he
asks me what I am thinking and I say Nothing.

Hopefully that won't be a lie like it usually is.
Hopefully I won't want to say:
Jack's eyes I am thinking
Jack's lips I am thinking
Jack's hands I am thinking
Jack's arms I am thinking
Jack Hunter I am thinking
I love you!