The Spotting

The sight of you is a dead nerve,

No longer a jolt,

A pulse,

An fiberoptic memory bleaching the rest of my day.

You are an observation now—a flicker, a moment. 

Your name no longer rushes to the surface of my tongue. Sometimes I forget us all together.

But never the feeling when my forehead pressed against yours. Fingers laced together, a gate to the universe between us. Those exhales made a whole language, a truth AJ don’t doubt even now. That gold you gave me never dulls.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s