I’m wearing your flannel. It’s the closest I can have to you tonight.

My pillow still smells like you. I have a love/hate relationship with that fact.

I’ll probably lay awake tonight, picturing your body

so beautifully laid out on your bed

As if it were a painting

Starting with your face..

each freckle drawn so particularly

almost specifically

to further my regret

to long for the accuracy that is

you

Your pupils… so precise. So large and meaningful

tell me exactly what you are afraid to

Your chest and arms

Sculpted as if they were made for my hands

to touch

to grab

to hold

to feel anything at all

Do you feel anything?

Your bedroom, with the lights off.. so we can only make out each other’s shapes and shadows

with the help of the moonlight

shining through your glorious front windows.

I love gazing out those windows.. watching your horses live.. so freely

Freely within the rules. But they don’t need to live outside the rules, they are committed to this fencing and this grass and these people

You promised you would take me to ride them some day. It’s okay.. I broke a promise too.