I’m not made of stone.
I feel sad when I think of you,
solitary fondling of yourself in the dark
with little comfort
and no affection.
When my body and yours can meld so welll,
but don’t.
Not any more,
since the rudimentaries of living
got in the way.
And I ache with the wanting
or is it the memory of the wanting?
Our bodies would still fit
but our minds were never melded,
though they strived to meet
on a plane we didn’t quite achieve.
So why do I miss what we never had?
I think I loved you,
I think I still do.
But I don’t have anything to say
and you don’t understand when I do.

I always said
if we didn’t talk we’d have a perfect
love.
I meant
we wouldn’t judge, we wouldn’t criticise.
We’d just love.

I feel sad for the might have beens
that never were.
My body misses yours.
My mind misses the
You
behind the nothing
that you say.
It’s a buzzing in my head,
a physical sensation, an emptiness.
It’s a selfish love
but caring too
that it’s your hand
not mine.