8.17.19

i wish that you were here next to me.
that i could see you. hold you. hear your voice.
smell you. taste you in the air. i wish that i 
could sit with you. just sit. shoulder to shoulder
with legs outstretched + knees brushing. the
picture of content + perfect serenity. our feet - 
with or without our consent - would find some
way of touching each other; a small bump here,
the ghost of a stifled want, coming together
+ fleeing again. we would find comfort in it. 
hidden meaning. a secret something that our
mouths lack the courage to voice. perhaps
there are no words for what the ghost whispers
into the stillness of the space in + around us.
( i want you i want you i want you )
you would sing wordlessly under your breath,
and i would sit beside + soundlessly speak.
we would smile private smiles, each causing the
other’s. we would find the strength to be 
vulnerable. eventually. it would come to us
slowly. our feet lingering instead of ebbing
away from the warmth that draws them 
together. a pseudo accident turning to a timid
brush turning to a purposeful + continuous 
contact. nothing lost in translation.
nothing neglected in fearful silence. 
unutterable truth known to us beyond doubt. 
( you are real we are real i want you )
you would know the admission + so would i.
instead of fearing it we would face it together.
hands copying feet; accident. timidity. 
purposeful touch. then fingers moving further
than toes had dared to; intertwined now. linked
together by more than unvoiced want. by more
than the lingering ghost between us. 
a brief moment of mutual insecurity
( do you feel this too are you sure )
and a blessed tenderness answering
( i do you’ll kill me if you don’t )
then we would sink into each other’s skin;
you, wearing mine like scaled armor
and me, wearing yours like a beacon of home.
sweet as the ripened flesh of summer peaches.

- these the things that i long for in silence