I miss
those two hours we stole
that night, the way the road looked
under lamplight, stretching out
until after our eyes
would stop seeing, until
after where the circle of electric radiance
met its border, maybe
until forever. I miss
the enthusiasm, your nodding
when I would explain the way
my psychological manipulation works, how
our metaphors, for that feeling
that seems so normal, and yet so terrible,
matched perfectly. And the cold,
the gravel road, the aching feet, all that
I would gladly take for some more time
with you.
I miss
that hour we took unapologetically
the next day, even the time we spent looking
for the right spot, long as it was,
the gentle rocking of the hammock
and the snap-snap-snap
as we both pulled twigs apart
to keep our hands busy. I miss
that one particular moment
when I made you laugh, an inane comment
about getting my shoes *****, and how
your head dipped and skimmed
my shoulder, for just a second.
I guess, though I miss
all of these moments, mostly
I miss
you.