I miss the feel of your bum on my stomach
The feel of your palm on my thigh
The press of your hips, like a too an from hammock
and the sight of you nude in my eyes

Every second inside I cry and wither per hour
I hate that you thought me mundane
I felt so alive and raised up by your power
Turns out what you claimed was all feigned

I miss your taste, your skin, your scent
I never considered our love to be finite
But along with my hopes and self esteem you went
Leaving me loving you more every minute