He sat skulking in the corner, inhaling his way through packets of cigarettes as the smooth grey smoke curled lazily towards the chandelier. He had enjoyed the night's festivities, its drunken revelry still painfully battling within his head. He remembered her and how her very touch brought ecstasy to his senses. Her sweet, tantalising smell was reminiscent of a summer orchard, with fragrances of citrus entwining his heart and casting him vulnerably into the rapture of her arms. A smile traced its way across his face as he remembered the warmth cascading from her touch, the way her heat, her love, spread like wildfire across his skin and caused his hair to stand like a forest of burnt pine.

He paused.

Breathed.

Smoked.

He remembered the subtle taste of vanilla, entangled with the sharpness of tobacco. Even now did the suppleness of her lips still linger on his own, a flick of the tongue regretfully erasing the feel.

He resolved to never lick his lips again.

Burying his face in the collar of his shirt; he found a memorial, a simple smudge of make up reminding his fingers of her pink silk skin and how her form fitted so perfectly between his palms. The webbing of his hands, so undeniably sculpted for her hips, would not soon forget her unforgiving curves.

"I miss you"

He whispered, to the memory of her.