The Missing

Sun-drenched,
we fell into
conversation,
like
the ocean does
to
another
ocean,
full of
the sea-life
and
other bright
things,
shimmying
into the
depths,
and letting
the coolness
of the deep
fill
every crevice.
We gave
way
to energy,
the sounds
of our own voices,
and
allowed
the dampness
of
the world
to
loosen
our
touches
and glances.
Like the
time
Noah
forgave the world,
and
simply
left
without
notice.
See,
what this poet
loves
about you,
is
the nuance
of
how
we miss each
other
like a wordsmith
misses
her syllables,
nouns,
and the subtle dance
with
your voice,
the texture of your skin,
and love hidden
in between
the noise
of the
streets.
You,
my incredible sage,
is
the only
thing
missing
right now.

M.C. Davis

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