(Do you) Think of me as you
Brush your hair, feel the
Nylon bite as a
Finger-flow, turn a
Bristle’s tug into
My long stroke, from a
Careful hand in the
Closeness of the night?
(Do you?)

(Does the) Bitter kiss of the
Razor blade on an
Oily thigh make your
Vision fade as I
Drag a lip or a
Finger tip, cross a
Wonderland in the
Cool shade of the room?
(Does it?)

(Are your) Lips aware as the
Tooth paste taste on a
Tired tongue flushes
Stale away, of a
Matching pair brushing
Soft and long from the
Corners coy to the
Wetness of within?
(Are they?)

Will you) Wait for me in the
Dying light with your
Legs aglow as my
Train arrives and your
Fresh breath warm when the
Whistle blows and the
Tailwind shows your
Liquid hair the way?
(Will you?)

I’ve missed you.)