He who my heart yearns for so,
He whose arms warmth my sides have grown cold of,
He whose gentle palm's ghost still lingers in mine,
He whom I leaned my head against so often.
He whose lips were the first mine ever met,
He whose lips would be the first to speak the sweet words of love into my ear and skin.
His smell that I've come to find joy in now brings me great despair,
His dark chestnut eyes that once shown bright at me have dimmed,
His eyes that have seen me in ways no other has dared to discover.
He whose hands I've held so dear,
He whose hands that have memorized every curve dip and crevice of me,
He whose hands I've missed.
He who my legs once became knots with,
He whose waist was the first to meet mine.
He whose bed I found myself pressed in, as our lips spoke a language only we knew,
He whose sheets still remember my shape,
He whose body I used to crave like a forbidden fruit I dared not taste.
He whose hair I used to tangle myself in, as muffled noises and gentle squeaks made a great symphony.
He who I once knew.
