...

I still miss you incredibly.

I miss your face close to mine,
feeling your eyebrows
& your cheek bones
& your chin
with
my
nose.

I miss breathing
close to your  skin
& filling up
on the smell
of you.

I miss your breath,
a bit smoky,
the sound of your voice;
how it vibrated
in me
when we lay
talking together.

…

Why are you (still) the only person I want to talk to
when I become quiet?  Or even, 
not talk to.  Just sit with.
Quietly.
​
Not talking.