in the sensation of
“i miss you, dammit.”

and that’s really all the courage i have to say;
i can’t just give away those words about how i think you might be a little different,
in a different way than i am different,
but how i still miss hearing the river sound of your voice,
as you would talk and talk way too much about the things you care about while i would drift
away into the pattern…

all i know is that you had a habit of caring about me and i had a habit of picking up strays.
not sure if that’s changed.

so, what sort of rooftops do you like to climb these days?
cat got your tongue?

“it’s like watching a lion cry,” you said,
while i was busy cutting myself down to size in front of you.
i’ve still got some salt in my mane.

is this the natural progression of things?
when i think about how you softly fell asleep next to my feet one night
while we were sitting together on the couch,

i remember that it all seemed strangely natural.


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