Untitled, for now

Love, love, boring old love.

I miss your southern infused voice
that flows with the cadence
of water
being
drawn
from
a
well.

I miss that heavy
look
that drapes across
your cloudy eyes
when you are mad.

I miss how you would put
your pack of cigarettes
in your shoes
outside your door,
and how you would crawl
into my bed
after we fought
about nothing
neither one of us
could remember.

I miss that melted look
when we are passionately kissing,
like someone painted
your irises
with watercolor
and stars.

And I miss the most
when you would whisper
into my ear,
how it went straight
to my soul,
like something I've never felt before.

Like we knew each other
in a different life,
and my heart recognized you.

Author's Note

Feedback

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

You do love very well. Not something I can do often. These lines speak to me of someone who cared deeply for the one who is missing. It's the little things that are missed the most. I got the impression that the poet really observed and knew this love well. The opening stanza is incredibly good, it drew me in. Well done and pleased to visit you.

Chris

[Eyeright]

Thank you Chris. Love your feedback.

[Chris Shaw]

You are welcome.