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.