i can close my eyes and smell his skin. it smelled a little bit of sweat and salt and cool outside air.
it doesn't take much to call up the memories, especially on the night of a full moon.
i can hear his voice, his laugh that was so big and booming, the one that came out of him spontaneously whenever i did something that was a little off the wall. i can also hear his low tones when he and i would just sit and talk, and talk, in the dark, long after we had turned the lights out.
i can close my eyes and taste his lips, feel his soft beard, and his breath. he favored slow kisses. he said when he met me he had become a connoisseur.
i vividly remember what it feels like to hold hands with him, and i can feel the pressure of his arm when it draped across my shoulders. he and i thrived on physical contact. right now, i am starved for it, for his touch. i had turned into a connoisseur of him.
every night when i go to bed and turn off the light, i roll to my side and i almost believe i will see the outline of his shoulders. i think i will be able to turn into him and rest my hand on his chest, over his heart, like i did every night. almost. i almost believe it. if i close my eyes so i an deny where i live now, i definitely can.
i don't really have to close my eyes for my senses to see, feel, hear, taste, or smell him, but i admit it helps to shut out the sight of this place he never lived in.
can you see him?
do you even remember him?
every time you come back
to turn the fullness of your face
on cold me
in this hollow world
that you can pass along a message to him,
that you can tell him for me,
"i see her. she's looking for you. she loves you."
can he see me?