My bones don't ache.
My food doesn't taste different.
My eyes don't play tricks.
My home is still my home.
My colors are as vibrant as always.
My dreams as dark and empty as always.
When you aren't around
I'm not a different person.
My world isn't different.
I'm just not alive.
Not really.
Not without you.

You breathe my stale air.
I know it's not romantic,
not to anyone but me.
But you do.
My head rests higher on
the bed. My warm
breath trickles down
to where you breath in.
I can't sleep with my head
under a blanket. Warm air
doesn't breathe right to me.
But you breathe my stale air.
I love you for that.

Move the couch there.
Push the dresser up against
that door.
Draw the shades.
(Who talks like that?)
Throw the blankets against
the bottom of the door.
Move close to me, across
the ocean of cotton between us.
We have built seclusion.
Isn't it wonderful?

You make me feel...

How does one go about
describing music?
How would you explain
the color red?
If you have bread after
starving for three days,
can you describe to someone
that has always eaten three
squares what it felt like to
be full?
What words capture the smell
of earth after a hard rain?

You make me feel...

I have told myself a million times
that “this is the best moment in my life.”
I have sworn, billions of times
that leaves never seemed to fall
like this before, that rain never
felt so good on my skin.

It's just the fit.
Like we were factory made.
My hand fits perfectly into the
small of your back.
You fit against my contours, as
though you were molded, or I was,
into a shape convenient to the
purpose.

Sometimes, when you breath out,
your eyes flicker slightly.
Like the end of a first date.
They aren't sure if they should
stay or go.
I watch as you mumble and
fall back asleep. Re adjusting so
you won't have to sleep with your hair
pushed against your neck by my elbow.

You rested against the pillow.
Sweaty and smiling. Your cheeks
flushed, your eyes half closed from
the exertion. You looked wonderful.
Messy hair and tired eyes.
Wonderful.
It was the million and first
best moment of my life.

There are bodies in motion.
Bumping into one another,
as they drift through time
and space.
Each new contact creates
a slight deviation in their course.
They spin off, tangentially.

Here in this city, where
ambulance sirens make
the sour notes of our love
song, I sit missing you.
Missing the contact.
Missing our slight deviations.

So there's this dark room, right?
When you walk in, there's this odd
warmth rising from the floor.
I know, crazy.
But here's the hitch:
The warmth isn't mechanical.
It doesn't have the familiar consistency
of Air Conditioned heat.
It feels like animal warmth.
Human warmth.
How weird is that?

Anyway, what happens next is the lights.
They go on like crazy, all over
the place. It's bright, is what I'm saying.
So you throw your hand up over
your eyes, who wouldn't yeah?
So while your hands are up,
and your blinking back those
bright-light style tears and everything
you feel something on the small
of your back.

Creepy. I know, I know.
What's going on, right?
That's the crazy part,
I have no idea either.
I guess I never will.
I changed the channel.