She
does not know
how empty I am,
without her.
My forced absence
drains me.
I miss her skin,
her hair,
her laugh,
her strong legs,
her screams,
her whiskey and mint breath,
her fingers on my chest,
her smelly ******* dog,
her cluttered kitchen,
her horrible wall sconces,
and her muscles flexing underneath me.
I miss the way we fit
so well together
in her small bed.
I miss the nervous
anxious feeling I
would get on the way over
to see her.
I think of the quiet moments we
would have after
making love, when she would twirl her hair,
and give me a new
perspective.
She was unhealthy for me,
I knew that going in.
That doesn’t change
or heal
or fix
or fill
my emptiness.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
She
does not know
how empty I am,
without her.
My forced absence
drains me.
I miss her skin,
her hair,
her laugh,
her strong legs,
her screams,
her whiskey and mint breath,
her fingers on my chest,
her smelly ******* dog,
her cluttered kitchen,
her horrible wall sconces,
and her muscles flexing underneath me.
I miss the way we fit
so well together
in her small bed.
I miss the nervous
anxious feeling I
would get on the way over
to see her.
I think of the quiet moments we
would have after
making love, when she would twirl her hair,
and give me a new
perspective.
She was unhealthy for me,
I knew that going in.
That doesn’t change
or heal
or fix
or fill
my emptiness.
