Your hands felt
like home and
they told me things
you wouldn't with
your mouth

The problem is that
when I sleep I
lay like you're already
here

It's 4:36 am
and I've
spent
too many of the
past nights
at this
hour
remembering your hands.

I want fog and
red ears
that you'll pinch between
your fingers
to keep warm
and a cloud of your
breath
on my face.

I want to be loved
even when I
talk too loud
or curse in public.
I want to
have someone
to come home to
who will touch my cheek
and tell me
"I've missed you."
And I think love is
knowing how damaged
someone is
but sticking around
to make sure they're fixed,
and I need someone to
stick around for me.

I may not know
the amount of days
or weeks or months
or years
but I'm sure someday someone will
hold me
close at night
and breathe
"See you in the morning,"
into my ear.
And that thought
helps me sleep
until then.