I have no right to miss
Your honeysuckle voice
Or your wild lovely hair,
Or your lightning strike eyes.
Nor the soul beneath them
That held mine like death,
Like coming home,
Like gravity.
But I do.
I miss your philosopher's mind
And the way you stuttered the night you met me
Like I meant something,
Like it mattered what you said.
(Like I wasn't in love with you instantly
Anyway
As if I were a lone tree on a high hill,
Burnt to the core all of a sudden,
Lit up,
More lovely in my moment of destruction than I'd ever been adorned with fall leaves
Or springtime flowers.)
As if it were
You
Who would lose
me.