I used to have
Your breath in my ear
Your hair in my mouth
Your smile in my morning
Your hands on my sleeping
Now my body feels weak
Even in its new found strength
My legs
Do not yet know how to stand.
I used to have
Your sholdure to lean on
Your arm to pull me up
You, telling me stories of love and episonage
Of far away lands and halted dreams
Your laughter
In the gentle sea breeze
Your cooking
(feasts of color smelling of love)
Welcoming me home.
When I pushed you away
For perchance another way
I had little else
For comfort
But this intangible language.
Words and song and myth
The delight of the morning sunrise
And the silence
Of these nights alone.
Little surprise
I keep writing
Desparately creating
Typing fingers flying
Restless mind wandering
fingers caressing keyboard,
desk, computer screen -
It's your skin I am (still) seeking
instead I have only
These lines
To wrap around me
Only words, flung together, to hold me
Against the dark chasm
That rises too quickly
between me and myself
Not that metaphor or rhyme
Image or sweet solliquoy
Could possibly compensate
for my first language,
the language of touch.
I am missing
the cadence of physical intimacy
the rhythm of two bodies breathing
the song of your arms, holding.
Sometimes I sing.
Voice reverberates
Crossing
the divide I didn’t know I had
Between myself and I
Perhaps in this word-wringing
I am preparing
this journey for the next
for what will to come to pass
before we all go
falling.
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