Love doesn't always feel like this.
Let me prepare you for when it doesn't:
I will miss your tongue and
let the blame fall on when
you missed my call.
I will miss your taste
and tell you that I don't feel
like talking
and eventually

I will miss your wrists, the creak of your bones,
running my fingertips along your skin
I will miss your chapped lips
your callused hands and
your soft kiss
I will miss everything about being with you.
I will miss your hand on mine,
sneaking kisses in the back
of your friend's
truck.
I will miss you.
And I will tell you
that I don't feel like anything.