I miss it
His warm, peanut skin against my bare back,
His cheek resting on my shoulder,
Lips at my neck.
The way we would talk after,
About modern-day racism, social issues, oppression.
I miss that.
I miss his laughter and jokes
Satirical, ironical, playful jokes
Though their job was to tear me down—and they did—
I miss them.
I miss his style
The way he walks
The way he carries his blunt stature
His broad shoulders, firm chest, soft face
All giving reason to his incredibly intellectual character.
I miss the feelings we brought to Sunday,
The jubilant essence of car-rides home,
Holding hands and kissing at red lights.
The uplifting notion that we were not who we were
We were we.
But I don’t miss him.
I don’t miss his governing cruelty over my every thing.
His ruinous jokes,
Mocking all that I ever thought to be
His complex nature that drives him,
To always place me at least 5 steps behind him.
I don’t miss him.
Not at all.