the way you fit so close
against me, like you’re a series
of hallways and rooms being added on
to the house that is my body.
the dawn light will rip us apart.
i read somewhere that
it is easy to become reliant on
anything and i think the only thing
i’ve ever been addicted to is
the smell of your skin.
when you are not around i’ve found
your shirts are an insufficient replacement.
i imagine i take photos of you in my head
when the light hits you just right or
the joke i made brings out that one grin or
the silence has softened your features
into quiet contentment. the only problem is
my memory cannot contain the small details.
you know, one day we will run out
of lazy Sunday nights and Friday dinners
and midnight sessions of exploration.
our time here is so finite and there’s so much
inside of you i need to chart and learn.
we are human beings, we have fault lines
from where others have helped us achieve
such pristine levels of imperfection as this.