let this be the last time

I miss you.

with your incessant knocking in the morning,
the cups of coffee you would steal for me,
comfortable silences nestled among small talk,
big conversations, and even bigger jokes–

all the ways you would say my name and
the way i kept yours rolling on my tongue,

your fingers and your shins, long and wiry,
lips foreign, adventurous yet far too knowing,
hands certain, eyelids drooped, neck stretched and bared,
gaze unwavering, deep as the eyes that it beholds
the sun on the surface and luck buried beneath,

beneath slow burn romances and the spit-fire of time all too mighty, I remember
Your head careened to the heavens like we were and are gods,
gods that felt the ebb and flow of time and bliss intertwined–

But we are not gods.

We are as silent as we are real.

I miss you, and
let this be the last time
that I do.


oh god i officially turned you into poetry i hate everything


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