Please? It's not so much to ask.
For you, it would be meaningless, and emply act of satisfaction, and then you could go on with your life, forgetting who I was, but with the knowledge you got laid in the last 24 hours. I would be the one to dwell on each touch, each caress, each word, each kiss, every moment. I would recall each time you looked into my eyes, and I would burn with passion. I would want to cry when thinking about how you tasted, how your lips felt against the curve of my throat, how your hands felt running along my spine. How your breath teased the hair that fell in my face, and how nothing I ever experienced after that moment would ever match it, or surpass it, and how that very moment would embody the feeling of perfection.
But you, you could continue on, just fine. Breathing in and out, without feeling a pang in your heart with every step. Without letting that moment ever cross your mind again.
So I ask you to please, let me drown in my memories and fantasies and put me out of my misery, because fucking me would bring you only so much, and me everything.