I miss you
in the breath
of broken promises
in involuntary verses
of the prose I cannot write

I miss you
in a senseless beat of irony
and the nights that close my eyes
with the truth that strikes the wall
in the calm and the collapse
in the storm that will not pass

I miss you
in a corner of the mind
too often occupied
with involuntary rhymes
and –in all that I cannot write