That smile again
when I come back to the place I’ve never been
to see you waiting there.
It’s been years since September,
you’re browner, standing over a backpack full of the future
plans we’ll get to just as soon as
we’ve stripped each other of the last lonely layers
forgotten & foreign on a bedroom floor, taking
time to remember each other’s skin.
I want what made the words you gave the postcards,
to feel deliverance in the only hands I truly
know how to hold.
They filled your absence into busy lines;
priceless sights & pending dreams – look how
they move me still.