The sick, sweet pit
at the bottom of my stomach -
that makes me nauseous
when my throat drops down
so I can barely speak,
no audible whisper,
the one that nudges
every desire within
to call you and spill
everything I'm made of,
every word withheld,
every story untold,
because I miss the sound
of your presence in my life -
always comes
when I'm too tired to feel.