Of Yearning: I Don't Miss It
But sometimes I forget where I
am,
Imagine myself inside that
life again.
Recalcitrant mornings. Sun
perhaps,
Or more likely colorless
light
Filtering its way through
shapeless cloud.
And when I begin to believe I
haven’t left,
The rest comes back. Our
couch. My smoke
Climbing the walls while the
hours fall.
Straining against the noise of
traffic, music,
Anything alive, to catch your
key in the door.
And that scamper of feeling in
my chest,
As if the day, the night,
wherever it is
I am by then, has been only a
whir
Of something other than
waiting.
We hear so much about what
love feels like.
Right now, today, with the
rain outside,
And leaves that want as much
as I do to believe
In May, in seasons that come
when called,
It’s impossible not to
want
To walk into the next room and
let you
Run your hands down the sides
of my legs,
Knowing perfectly well what
they know.
National Poetry Month #25
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