It’s not your clothes. God, you are such a slob. With your tattered jeans, ruffled thrift store polo’s, and sneakers that barely stay together. I don’t miss your clothes.
And it’s not your apartment. Books in piles randomly set. Your eclectic collection of old school Nintendo 64 games. And your Game Boy, at the edge of the TV table, with either Kirby Pinball, Chess, or Tetris inside, the only three games you played on it. Your bathroom that was never cleaned. Your bedroom, the most acceptable room, with only strewn about clothes as its vice. Your kitchen, which you never used to cook. Just the microwave, the fridge, with its many leftover containers, and the sink piled high with glasses and silverware. No, I definitely don’t miss your apartment.
But your scent after you’ve come back home from a run. That delicious mixture of sweat and old cologne. The way I sometimes sniff your ratty t-shirt that you left at my place once, hoping to pick up that scent. I do miss that aroma.
And your hair. Thick, black, perfect when it’s messy. Stuck to your face in the morning. Stuck to your face after a run. Stuck to your face as we fucked. My fingers ran through, gripping hard. And the way you’d nestle your head in my chest as I massaged your scalp. Yes, I miss your hair.
Oh, your arms. So strong, yet not obviously so. The way you’d hold me tight, pull my body into you whenever we hugged. Hello or goodbye. The way you’d suddenly pick me up into your arms, lifting me in glee, and then dumping me on the couch. On your bed. On the floor. And us either giggling as you tickled me mercilessly or grunting as we began kissing and fucking. I do long for your arms.
Your lips. Your perfect mouth. The way you gave soft subtle kisses. Teasing. Pleading. Light wisps of your lips with mine, kisses. Deep. Desperate. Passionate, enveloping my being kisses. Lost in the moment. Head and heart suddenly one, kisses. I dream of your lips.
Your eyes. As you gazed on me while I snoozed in your lap. The way you’d always look so damn happy in the morning when I shoved you to wake you up because you never heard your alarm. When I’d peek, for just a second, as we fucked, and saw the way you loved me when you were inside me. When you brushed an errant strand of my hair away, put your arms around me, pulled me in close, lightly nuzzled your nose against mine, and stared through my eyes as you said for the first time, “I love you.”
Those eyes, your eyes. Your hair. Your arms. Your lips.
I miss you.
[Side Note: Since this is a poem, I decided to give you, my fair readers, a treat. For your listening pleasuring, the following is a link to a download-able WAV file of me reading said work. Enjoy.
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