Do You Miss Me Writing Poems About You?

Do you miss me? Do you miss the way my fingers graze my lips when I’m shy about my passion? Do you miss the way I play with my hair when a question makes me uncomfortable? Or the way I pretend to lie on the edge of the bed, only to shift backwards into you when I think you’re asleep?  Do you miss me getting angry -all hands on hips and flaming eyes- and calling me cute just because you know I love to say well, I’m about to get adorable! ? Do you miss coming over after midnight just because you’ve forgotten what my smile looks like? Do you miss me striking up random conversations with strangers just to exchange smiles? Do you miss my surprise cupcakes? Or how I can’t sleep unless Jeffrey is in my arms? Or how I’m always staring at the sky? Do you miss star-gazing with me and rottweilers? Do you miss the way I notice people in pain? Or how I pretend to be fierce? Or how your mother loved me? Or me helping your friend out with a girl problem? Or how I would trace your lips and marvel? Or how I would look at you and hold you there? Do you miss the poems I used to write about you? Do you miss sharing post-coital cigarettes? Or whispering secrets in the dark? Or feeding me while you cooked? Do you miss my smart-ass comebacks? Or the way my back arched when I wanted you? Or the way my underwear always, always matches? Do you miss me teaching you new words? Or giggling while giving head? Or waking up in the middle of the night just to have you inside me? Do you miss conversations ’til dawn? Or holding hands? Or even my goddamn elbow? Do you miss kissing on beaches? Or making sure I cross the road safely? Or the way I scribble down notes in inappropriate places? Do you miss me high-fiving you after a particular good sex session? Or the nicknames I gave you? Or the long showers together? Do you miss the way I wanted you?

God damn it, do you miss me taking care of you when you should have been taking care of me?



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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

19 thoughts on “Do You Miss Me Writing Poems About You?”

  1. uh, i think he would.
    but this made me wonder – “the way my underwear always, always matches”

    matches what?

    sorry, if I’m being inappropriate, but as I said, made me wonder.

    1. My brassiere and my panties always match. I’m so anal that I rarely wear this beautiful designer one I have because I couldn’t find the matching bottoms. Terrible. But it means that -in some way- I’m always put together.

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