when will I forget…
the littlest things I miss the most?
the tiny mole that sits shyly on your collarbone
and your tousled curls against your cheeks
when shall I be free . . .
of your crooked smile and that tiny crease between your brows?
of the memory of you …
dancing your victory dance?
and of your sleepy morning mumbles
all too soon,
the little things I loved the most …
your hand devouring mine
your scent drowning mine
are now things that hurt me most.