I missed you,
your smell especially. The dry
earth hidey pungency of which
only those who love your kind
I missed: Your unconditional love
obviously, but also, weirdly,
your saliva, dripping,
on a long drive to some destination
you trusted us with. Like a fool.
We could have been shipping you
to your death. Yet, you smiled:
pink tongue flapping. Content
to lay there in the green
grass at the rest stop, licking
your butt with a deep sigh.
And yet, at the end of the day
there’s no one I’d rather share a bed with.
I missed your hair
curled and/or straightened
through hot metal, looped
around the same device
like tiny Ferris wheels.
the way your face was a lantern
And a hot knife.