of your absence
thick in the air
like humidity
on the bayou
time passing by
as slowly as
molasses dripping from
Grama’s wooden spoon
a yearning
permeating my life
everywhere I look
I don’t see you
can’t feel you
hear or touch you
all I have is
impersonal: Facetime
I-pad filled with
photos, videos.
my preference is
having you perched
sitting near me
better yet, perched
up on my lap
I want to feel
your hair, tickle you
watch you smile
hear you laugh
beside me.
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