i used to recognize your face
used to have your topography –
your valleys and mountains – imprinted
on the insides of my eyelids
used to feel the rumble of your laugh deep
within my gut, earth-shaking
lung-shattering
used to feel your warmth encase me in
your cocoon dark and silent,
enveloping me in your scent – musky
like soil after it rains
used to feel the lightning of your rage
blinking white-hot energy through my veins,
used to know the sound of your alarm
your sharp sad whale song
and relish in the soothing winds of your
embrace

but now, it seems
there are only holes where
your face used to be and
your spine has turned to dandelion fluff –
for when i try to grasp you i find
you are spinning

just out of reach