What it Looks Like

 

This is what it looks like
to miss you.
To grieve the last of you
escaping my skin.

This is what it looks like
to need your arms as shelter.
To want to live every day where
you and the sunrise,
kiss me at the same time.

This is what it looks like
to have too many words,
and not enough space on your chest
to leave them.

This is what it looks like. . .
to love you.

 

 

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