I miss you; your energy, your voice sustain me,
prop me up when there's no stamina left in my body
and I welcome relief, be that exhaustion or death.
I miss the intimacy; the way your back would curve
when I tugged your hair like reins or the sound of our bodies colliding
and the stars in my eyes, erupting like fireworks
because your laughter echoes in my ears like recordings on loop.
I miss the telepathy; the ability to communicate in a room,
without words, a secret language
with a look or finger gesture, subtle and minute;
to know quite suddenly that it was time to go.
That you needed me on you, under you, inside of you
I miss the way you smell, lavender and green apple and wild berry and moscato and lust;
the way you feel, like every interpretation of euphoric sensory overload.
I do not miss being your fool; your viciously gullible and emotional masochist.
But here I am again, enthralled; senseless and beyond reason.