All dreams must come to an end, you know this
Every meeting spent looking behind your backs is a constant reminder
That she was never yours to love
That in fourthreetwo months, she will sip sake in a white kimono, Prince Harunori's hand on the small of her back
An artful, painfully false smile plastered onto her face
(It hurts, oh, Buddha, it hurts to think of this)
In the night he will caress her alabaster skin, watch it flush with arousal
Touch the all-too-secret places only you have penetrated
For now, though, there is ocean and salt and balmy air
Sand clinging to your naked limbs
You drink her in; night-sky hair, proud features softened in the moonlight, heavy-lidded eyes
And then you trail kisses down her collarbone and try to forget.