i've missed you
09/12/2011 09:09 p.m.
i won't tell you
i've missed you
that will only scare you away

three months apart
a welcome drought
almost had me clear-headed

but now i see you and it's like i can feel that four day
stubble on your neck, that
stale smell in your hair, that lunchtime
cigarette smoke inside your cheeks

i don't care how wrinkled your clothes are or how you
awkwardly position your hips when you
walk, usually away from me, when we
meet eyes

don't make me chase you

i want to be back in your living room
in your clothes
innocent, except for our thoughts, and the
smiles that revealed them

i know you liked it too—
my clean skin, my eyelashes on your neck
you read me bedtime stories from books you found
on the streets of brooklyn, little love notes written
in the margins
you crept off
to bed, the other room, deeming both of us
"safe"

in the morning we resumed
as though we hadn't slept in
separate beds
the distance between our coffee cups invisible

i won't tell you
i've missed you
that will only scare you away