Friday, November 30, 2018

when I'm naked I miss you

when I'm naked I miss you
a love poem that's not elegant—
but true.

before I even breathe,
each day,
my morning offering remains
your face on the pillow next to mine.

each night,
I tuck myself in with
memories of your skin.

at matins, lauds, and nones
my psalms are old jokes
and lullabies of your eyes.

Teach my neck how to forget.
Memory may be next to godliness,
but I do not want God's sort of pain.

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