Monday, July 13, 2009

I miss the way you walk across

a crowded room, as in my dreams

wearing that french blue silk dress I adore.

I miss the way that very dress

falls down, like a condemned man

as you shrug your shoulders and step out of its shell.

And I miss you on those thick, warm Southern nights.

I miss the way you were there for me

in my loneliness and sorrow

and the taut, familiar passions of our struggle

I miss the angles of your arm

you wrist, your palms, your fingers -

from the incest of their ink to their angels of decision.

And I miss the hungry promise of your touch.

I miss your poems and the creature

you became in the act of making them

and the borders they crossed

and how they made me want to follow

I miss you, you excruciating beauty

your intelligence, your elegance

and your half dreamed voice from older, kinder days.

Missing you !

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