Spilled Ink

darlienne:

I miss the way you used to look at me,
The ocean on the brim of your lashes
And your heart on the edge of its bay

I miss the way you used to handle me,
With all the caution of a child, playing far
From a mother’s watchful eye

I miss the way you used to touch me,
The contours of your throat dipping low
As sweat shielded skin from discovery

I miss the way you used to counsel me,
How the tides would shift with the waning moon
And you, waist-deep, would find the water’s womb

I miss you for all you did for me;
I loved the privilege, but never you.