I miss the
dying light from our footsteps-
I miss the sound of our heels
followed by the evening’s color,
so honest
it's hard to behold,
a life so unreal
that sleep serves
as a release-

I miss the dying light in lashes,
in curls as a testament-
I miss my own stoic profile
hindering passion,
emphasizing restraint-

I miss the invisible barrier
that made you tight,
close-
I miss the secret
that made you a forbidden-

I miss the stutter in
your night tide
the smile in your day walk
I miss your digesting
of my words-
staring.