Is it shallow, you think, to think that your words are never enough?
if you are not bending space beside me
I find that I am too light
To hold my place alone
In your absence, fabric bends up, like an air-castle floor
And presses on my face and my sides
It’s harder to breathe.

Why does there have to be more depth in 2D words than a body?
Richer in spoken sounds, breaths, shapes and textures than you were
In a meaningful flatness, stuck frozen inside a screen.
There is an art to language,
But there is more art in motion and skin than letter formulas.

I miss your human shape,
I miss your clicking bones and dying body
Like the rest of us.
Those black-and-white lines are a skinny blanket
I’d much rather be wrapped in your X-scented clothes
Whispers and unwritable sounds.

My scalp relaxes, and my eyebrows breathe.
My notes and lists and plans blotted out
That tree in the forest with no one around
Is made from yellow Post-Its and highlighter pens
All that winds into my ears is from you, because I am not there.

Mother never told me, there’s no such thing as lust.
Without knots of epithet, proverbs, walls of similie
L                    o/u                      v/s                        e/t
Are the same.
Before we could speak, fingers, ankles and toes were love.
You have shown me who you are, not told.