The Poetry Collection [Editing]

59. Missing You

I keep trying to memorize the way
your mouth curves when you say
"I love you."
It's fluid,
like the way the tears roll down my cheek
and around my lips when I can't find
the words to tell you how much I miss you.
Long distance has become negative
or almost derogatory.
For you and me, it's all there is.
I had the luxury of watching
the twist of your hips as they walked
and the movement of your hair as it was caught in the wind.
Now, you're only eight hours away,
but in reality that means more months
I don't get to feel your warmth.
I miss the way your fingers
would get tangled in my hair,
but I'd beg you to put them back
simply because it meant I could feel you were there.
I miss when I would beg
to be carried by you
and your shoulders would slump as you sighed,
but smiled, then held out your arms.
I miss how I could feel
the angle of your shoulder blades beneath my fingers
as I worked out the kinks and knots
from the stress that I no doubt placed upon you.
I miss the solid sound of your voice
hitting my eardrums without the assistance of a speaker
that would alter the frequency and create a stutter.
So I'm trying to memorize the way
your mouth curves when you say
"I love you."
It's not enough to just hear the words,
but to know the meaning
and realize the significance
of who is saying it
and why it's being said.
It's spoken for me,
for my benefit.
And I'll always have a reply,
because I know you're watching me
when I say
"I love you too."