09.06.16

Missing

Wish I could make you a sandwich

She says

And my throat and stomach

Instead of feeling hungry for the sandwich

Conjoin in one symphonic ache

For her.

For the softness of her touch

For the firmness of her embrace

For the sound of her fingertips

Tapping nimbly against the keys

As she types

How

Are

You?

Keeping her fingers active and ready

To wipe away tears

And turn pouts into smiles.

Oh, and the ears chime in too

Longing to hear her say my name

To hear her giggle and exclaim

Come look!

Come look at this funny thing.

And now the nose joins in

Missing the sweet scent of her shampoo

And the rich, remarkable aroma that fills her kitchen

Every night

And travels to my senses

Faster than the sound of an in-tune piano.

She’s made me thousands of sandwiches

And into each one

Went little bits of her heart.

All those times I bit into her homemade bread

Filled with fresh vegetables

And juicy produce

Did I ever think

That they would later turn my entire being

Into a concerto?

Grandiose in longing

Vociferous in regret.

All I want

Is for her to hand me a sandwich

So that I can then take her hand

Hold it to my heart

And say feel

Feel what you’ve made

I have become a living rhapsody

Your rhapsody

My body hums and my heart beats

For and because of you.

Every word that you said

Every touch that you gave

Every sandwich that you made

Made me into a melody

That will love you

With sweet chords and in harmony

Completely and evermore.