It’s a pity you aren’t here with me at this moment
Or you weren’t there in those,
That I am surer than you would be for yourself,
You would want to be in with me more than you want anything else,
In all my travel stories, or cafes I went by, or the roads I traveled, or the oceans I drowned in,
Across countries and borders, warzones and conflicted lanes, woods and skyscrapers,
Everything, anything, and nothing!
There is a part of me that has stopped trying,
Stopped forcing myself to believe it was just another passing wave,
Like a million others I have tamed!
Not really, it isn’t ‘love’ either, I don’t do love.
It was something else, something I’m yet to name,
But when I do think of a fitting word for it,
I’ll write around, and about it.
I am less consumed by the absence of you and more by what I was when I was with you,
It overwhelms me.
I don’t have the time to stomp my feet through the vacancy, there is none.
I’m too full of the moves I made at every swirl of those fingers around my curves and lines,
Too full of my aggravated blood that pumped through each inch of me at the sudden push and pulls.
Too full of the music I heard and the books I read, through the days and nights of burning one day at a time.
I’m too full of me, seamlessly screwed,
But then, aren’t we all.