What Comes in Waves

The idea of you hits

as a wave to the sand.

I miss you but to miss you

is a wave of its own

- to love you:

the way you talk,

your tone, your cry,

your eyes when they see me

when they lock on mine,

I will not look away

even to wink is loss of time.

the soft of your skin,

your hand on mine

or any spot your hand may go

so long as I feel you with me

your hand can tour

any part of me you wish to know.

To feel your name

come off my lips

I like the way it fits

your name and mine.

the bind, the hold

you have over me,

is the slam of the wave

to the sand, the tug to

go out to the sea

the ebb of love and lust

gone in the rush

- left only with

sea foam, sand, and dust -

Then,

then I miss you.

Only once the wave has died,

I miss you on days like this

when I lay here in bed

the spot next to me is bare.

I can’t get you out of my mind.

I wait for the wave

to rise from the sea

so that the loss is gone

and you’d be with me.

The wave will come

and the wave will go,

I know too well the ebb

and the flow. It’s gone,

and I wait for the day

that the wave will go,

and you will stay.