If this was goodbye, I would pin you down and savour you until the sun broke in through the window panes. I would grab you by your wrists and introduce your cold hard fingers to the back of my neck. I would feverishly lead you to the secret spots that could succumb to your touch. The space between my lower lip and chin, the base of my right thumb, the oddly-shaped scar tissue on my left forearm, the skin above my knee. If this was goodbye, I would slap on the fresh paint of desire and help myself to one last morsel of you. I would cover you in heady kisses and dreams denied, in buttery caresses and sighs unbroken, in unabashed tears and thoughts unspoken. I would excavate your soul until it was time to let go. But this isn't goodbye, so I will maintain a polite distance and offer you hot black coffee when you drop in. And perhaps, a dirty thought or two for the drive back.