I write for the moments
that I know I am missing you.
Quite silly that I’d wait
around, wondering
if you think of me
as often as I think of your
velvet skin, the laugh you have—

dancing effervescently along the walls
and in the shadows.

And I’d try to change
how it is. Because I know that
this feeling, while
the best thing I’ve ever
felt before

is beneficial to no one.

It’s foolish
(as I have always
called it).

But every time
I hear a Southern voice
I think of you.

And dream of you
in my nights and
through my days again.