03/08/2015
There are things I already miss.
Small things.
Like the brush of denim on my thighs as he crawled over me into bed after a long day.
The subtle hint of pine trees on his skin.
That little lift of the corner of his lips that let me know he was happy.
The way his scarred body, which had never seen a day of love in his life, melted under my gentle hands.
The times I caught him staring, despite being at total war with each other.
People always say it's the big things you miss.
But no, it's the little things that you miss most.
The dance parties no one else was invited to.
The defensiveness that crumbled away as he talked about his childhood the first time.
The outright annoying protectiveness.
The way he'd smile, and call me darlin'.
It's always the small things you miss.
I know it's what I do.
YOU ARE READING
Poems From My Mostly Dark Places
PuisiThis is just a collection of things I jot down while I'm in a dark place. Not all of them will be dark, but most will be. That's generally when I'm creating at my best. A lot of them won't be very long either, I tend to get stuff out in just a few w...
