I wish I had a 'you.'
there is no smell that reminds me of your breath because
have never exhaled.
there is no poem I could write
about the time I cried to
on your porch at 4 in the morning because
I never actually let my eyes open.
there is no call
that I'm waiting for;
my phone won't light up and I won't read the word
on its screen
that double knot in my stomach
won't untie with the
sounds of your voice and the words
have never been able to speak.
I can't use the length of your fingers as a unit of measure,
no, I rely on the ticks of the clock and the
sad song that the elevator mechanism plays
that gets clicks and echoes
stuck in my head.
I feel no sadness for never knowing
and I feel no relief knowing
have never hurt me.
but I'd like to know what it's like
to have your fingers run through my hair,
instead of only knowing the feeling of
own hands pulling it out.