this half pint, half life i spend on the edge of you
too many seconds too late, and too many minutes too early
(i miss you, though there is nothing to miss, we haven’t been apart)
infusing the senses, like the croak of frogs in the woods,
resounding, reverberating in my head
like the memory, of being spun around
and held onto like it’d never end.
(that catches in my throat)