It’s going to sound strange, but the thing I miss most is your skin.
I know that underneath the starlight I did not say it,
but if I could run my fingers over your body till I burst
then I would explode. I was shaking and it had nothing to do
with the sunless chill that hung over the Earth
under the silver sky like two pale worms we twisted around
and devoured each other, nemeses till the end
our destruction was mutually assured, communal and
longed for. so long it seems we spent speaking without saying anything,
till finally our words were mirrors, and our thoughts
like screeching tires and blinding reverse lights, the
sickening memories of mistakes that led to accidents
that fermented into regret. so much that could have been
was not: curse God for my shyness, ask why we dwell on
something imaginary, something intangible when we’re here,
together, now. so many times, I told you, the world is so big
and I am so small, one of billions, insignificant: but
then we were giants, and reality shrunk till it enclosed
only us, and the sky. the things you said then
were enough to fill that space, the air between us
was not filled with molecules but with planets, each one
full as ours of dreams. the surreality of those moments still haunts me:
if it weren’t for the marks left by your teeth, I would not
be sure that we had ever fallen together at all.