I miss her complicit
'behind-closed-doors' smile,
the way she would erase
all the faces sitting at the table.
And if she saw me catch her,
she would pause—
push her elbow toward me,
hesitation laced
with invitation,
shift her eyes,
and give me
that 'just-wait-till-we-are-alone' look.

Silent dares and stares
that turned distance cozy.
There was no need for words,
just the warm space between us,
a language written in peeks,
translated in breath
and the touch of skin.

Now, the space remains—
cooling where fire once
danced between us.
And I wonder—
does she miss the heat, too—
how I wonder.