loss in disguise

i miss the gold covers of our old couches
and the big cushions that i could sink into as i read

i miss you on these couches,

and waiting for you engulfed in these cushions

my mom's packed them up, i couldn't tell you where they are now

i miss when it gets chilly at night

and the sound of the occasional bike moving swiftly

between the corridor of buildings

i miss finding that the sound came from you

i miss the warmth of your company

i opened the door the other night for another man

it was as you said and it didn't feel quite right

i miss the smell of my summer lemon cake
late-night card games with my old friends
the smell of coffee from Kenya

i miss playing cards with you

baking you cake, watching you eat sparingly

with sips of that filtered coffee from Kenya

i miss the dimmed lights in my kitchen
i miss the toaster on my counter

i miss the attempts at conversations in the dark

i miss wondering about a person who wondered about me

as i wait for the bread to pop up

i miss the most tangible thing
that came with all these intangible feelings

like the hope that you might read this

like the knowing that you wouldn't

like the missing that's all that's left

like the emptiness

on the left side

of my cold hard bed.

~ ៷

The Noresoup Jukebox