I don’t even know you and I miss you, I can see the flick of your wrist, a cigarette twist, an arch of brow and bit of a smile as I rush forth to greet you, your tactile presence overwhelming me, the parts of your whole becoming dangerously close to real and I inhale your skin and your sex as though once before like this, we’d met, tangled limbs a testimony to mutual immersion. I graze your cheek with my lips, glossy imprint of my near-ghostly intrusion, left for you to find later on and your hand idly circles my waist, a casual touch of incendiary proportions and I struggle to regain my composure by balancing myself ever so slightly on the support of your inner thigh. We talk, picking up where we never left off, sharing secrets like prisoners confined far too long, engaging our need for conflict and then resolution, back and forth the verbal pendulum till our stories become gestures and those then rendered futile as we now have a need to trace scars in the dark, following the road map of our emotional cross-town traffic till we come to an intersection and once more we part ways, and I am left with little fragments, miscellaneous words, a receipt, taste of tongue and restless dreams, you’re a different type of ghost in the residence of me –I don’t even know you and I miss you.

01/25/2007

Author's Note: 1 of 2 poems, taken from one-liners that people have said to me.

Posted on 03/03/2007
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