I don't know what to say to you anymore; don't feel you there to say anything to– remove myself from the place I say your name as if it is a prayer; not for fealty, but peace between us, which seems to mean losing touch with you altogether in this instance. But I remember wanting to love you and can't discount it, so I won't– you are beautiful and kept in sight if only to recall the way god visited that day with a precious reverence– a promise of more than I could ever dream as possible; could hold or run through like a discount pack of stale Ritz crackers, which is how you make me feel.
I still believe in you and not because I have to; is there circumstance allowing you to miss me for something more than blow jobs–? I possess beyond the mould I cast to, certain, please you– revel in my sound of mind and stolid self possession: reach for hands you know caress your head just like a ripened apple; arrive in time to hold my hair at the nape of my neck, stroking my face; the sunrise.