when i miss you,
it’s like i’m trying to remember
a forgotten appointment.
you’ve become comfortable
to me, a favourite jacket,
that fits me just right, or
a necklace that I always wear
and when you’re not there
I rub at the place you should be.
at your house, with your cats,
i imagine your furniture and mine
and how they could fit together.
I scan your shelves, piled high,
hoping to find you somewhere
in the books, the music, the films.
I leave with new journeys to make
into other lives, biographies, tapestries,
great artists, lovers, cruelty, despair.
I am too scared to pull at the threads
of us, for fear we’ll unravel.
