Redacted

I miss you like I miss poetry-
the emptiness of not reading.
Not receiving.
The small of slowly heated blood
and the song of sweat against my ears.
The snare of skin trapped to body;
a protuberant bubble, moist and whole.
Soft distance set in.

I miss you like I miss finishing a poem-
the slush of being spent, denied.
When words not given voice elbow instead
from the mind and catch
in the murky slick of suspension.
A solo shunned from a chirring violin.
The elliptical crumbling
of an unspoken sentence.