My throbbing morning-cock presses the crack of your ass. Half awake, you groan, “Oh, God…again?”

“Always,” I whisper, the heat of the night refusing to settle into anything but this stolen moment. “My plane leaves in five hours.”

You turn, smile, and kiss me, “Then do it like it’s our last.”

You part your legs, just enough to let me in. If this is our last, let me remember your heat, your chest’s swell, your hair against my face. Your scent forever.

We catch each other’s names in our breath.

I wake; you’re still nothing but a dream