You see me, but you don't hear me.
You touch me, but you don't feel me.
You kiss me, but you feel nothing.

It's cold between us.
This distance hurts me.
You don't like it when I speak late at nights.
You tell me it's annoying you when I smile into a kiss.
When I laugh, you tell me to shut up.
I know you don't love me, but I love you.

I see you, and listen to everything.
You touch me, and I shiver beneath you.
You kiss me, and I feel everything.

I wake and stand and walk and work
I live and see and hear and feel
I talk and interact with other people
All while thinking of bed in my head
And the great longing relief of sleep.

Missing you so much,
More than your touch.

Making me whole,
Cleansing my soul.

When life gives it's worst,
Always think of you  first.

A part of my heart,
Since we met at the start.

Miles keeping us away,
Pull me down more each day.

But still, all the while,
Thought of you makes me smile.

A gift from above,
Filling me with love.

A loose wool-knit sweater had holes in the pattern,
through which her skin was visible both above and below
the dark sports-bra wore stretched across her *******.
I could see the thin straps draped over her collarbones,
and thought about the lines they leave in her skin.

Yoga pants squeezed her legs underneath of thigh-high socks,
and both were layered below tall leather boots with low heels.
An olive green fatigue jacket hung open around her and
was adorned with a colorful scarf that lay claim to her neck,
its tassels curled and bounced with each step she took
mirroring precisely the loose curls in her fair hair.

Finger-less gloves left her free to feel the texture of the
pages she turned one by one in a book pulled from the shelf.
She had sat down right in the aisle, planting herself in front of
the poetry section inside of a crowded Barnes and Nobles.
Sitting there with such an elegance, I lack the words for it,
completely unnoticed and free from the numerous
holiday shoppers that were carefully stepping over her,
books in their own arms, and heading for the cash registers.

[eyes gazing out beneath heavy lids]
i've done that a lot lately, walking
[mind twenty-odd miles away]
into doors that haven't been opened
[feet move faster than my head]
yet, fingers clenched around a ****
[nose hits first; check for blood]
that's only been halfway turned.
[won't happen again, sweartofuckinggod]