Conditional Lust

I could kiss your lips,

remember how they tasted like cinnamon coffee and

how they lit me on fire,

but not how to turn them into a smile.

I could hold your hand,

remember how it always ended up between my thighs and

how it knew I ached to blush in public,

but not the curved lines and crevices of your palm.

I could hear your voice,

remember the husky tone of it and

how it made me cross my legs while

eating the sweetest of desserts,

but not what you sound like when you've been crying.

I could see your soul in your eyes,

remember how restless and ruthless it was

when you appeared at my doorstep in the middle

of the night,

but not what thoughts and ghosts kept you from sleeping.